


winds of change.

by carrotstix



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cordelia and Zoe are sisters, F/F, Kyle is Misty's nephew, Slow Burn, Some light murder mystery, brief discussions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-08-29 23:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 56,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrotstix/pseuds/carrotstix
Summary: When Cordelia’s mother dies in a house fire, she’s left to inhereit nearly everything. And while everything means a lot of things, like the Goode family money and the charred remains of her childhood home, it also means something far more important: custody of her seven year old sister, Zoe.Caring for a child isn’t easy, of course, but throw in her declining passion for her job and the mysterious circumstances cropping up around her mother’s death, and all the change in her life is throwing Cordelia for a loop. Plus, add in the confusing attraction she feels toward her new neighbor, Misty Day, and there’s a whole lot going on for Cordelia right now.(She’ll make it out, though. Goodes always do.)





	1. prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> the prologue is a little short, but from here on out, the chapters will be longer, but this is mostly to give an intro for the story!  
> anyway, work title and all chapter titles are names of fleetwood mac songs.

To understand the situation Cordelia Goode finds herself in, you have to first understand her relationship with her mother, Fiona.

For a long time, her mom was the only parent she had. She’d been close to her father as a child, but she was young when her father had died, and the older she got, the further her memories faded, graying on the edges. It was hard to remember anything other than a feeling, other than warmth.

Her mother had become her only parent left when she was only five, and from there, things had been… complex. As a child, she’d had no qualms with her mom, other than those typical for a parent-child relationship, but when she’d started to grow up, that’s when their issues had begun. Cordelia had started to form her own thoughts, her own ideas, her own personality beyond the cookie-cutter mold she was meant to be made from, and her mother hadn’t liked that. The more they disagreed, the worse the arguments got. And the closer to eighteen she got, the more Cordelia begin to stand up for herself, refused to give in just because her mother demanded it so. Fiona had the ability to be cold, and manipulative, and Cordelia didn’t realize until she was almost fifteen that her mother had been using underhanded tactics to win any disagreement, whether it be guilt or sharp-laced words.

After that, the house begin to get explosive. Cordelia would refuse to give in, and arguments could stretch out for days, tension filling the house. She begin to try and find reasons to stay out of her home for hours after school, studying at the library, tutoring after school, or hanging out with friends (not that she had an over-abundance, but she did have her best friend Vivien, Kit and Grace were good company, and Hank was nice.) 

Everything between them only seemed to get worse and worse. Fiona also seemed to tire of the fighting, but as she was a woman who stuck to her words, she opted to take a route similar to her daughter: avoiding the house. Cordelia never asked where she went, feigning apathy, and her mother never told her, but she would come home late every now and again, sweeping into the house and straight up to her bedroom without a word. It started to reach a point between them where, with so many issues bubbling under the surface, unresolved, that every interaction between them was loaded.

In the end, the saving grace in their relationship was Zoe.

Cordelia was only a month past sixteen when she found out that her mother was pregnant, almost four months in and soon to be showing. When Fiona had told her, Cordelia had stared like the woman had grown another head, like she was waiting for the  _ ‘gotcha!’ _ at the end.

When it didn’t come, she’d shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “The father?” She’d asked, but her voice came out curious, and a little small.

Fiona had waved the question away with the flick of her hand. “Don’t worry about that,” she’d replied. “He doesn’t matter.  _ But,  _ there is going to be a baby around here, and that means things have to change in this house, got it?”

It was the closest thing to polite her mother ever seemed to get, but it was a peace offering, which Cordelia had taken, and together, they started prepping for a baby in the house.

There was a sort of uncertainty that Cordelia felt about it, the entire time, and she carried that up with her all the way to Zoe’s birth. It wasn’t until her sister was wiped clean, swaddled, and placed in her arms that she felt it: this wide, consuming love. She loved her friends, she loved her now-boyfriend Hank, and even if they fought all the time, she did love her mother.

This, though, was different. This was her family, her blood, and unlike Fiona, Zoe has never done anything to spite her, anything to wrong her.

She loved Zoe from the first moment she held her, and nothing ever changed that.

Admittedly, while her sister did some to help the tension at home, she didn’t get rid of it. Fiona and Cordelia’s relationship was still tenuous, if you were to put it mildly. Cordelia spent more time at the house, but she and her mother never really got over the frostiness between them. When it came time to go to college, Cordelia (along with Hank) fled to Massachusetts, leaving New Orleans in favor of New England. She’d fled up north upon receiving her acceptance to Amherst, on account of both the school itself, but also the distance. She’d long ached to see somewhere else, if even just for a while.

(And the truth was, she’d loved Massachusetts, everything about it. Amherst’s campus was perfect for her, and she’d loved it all; the town, the people, the school. In another life, she would have stayed there forever.)

She’d graduated a semester early, twenty-one years old with a double major in pre-law and business, while Hank studied nearby at UMass. Like her, he also came from money, meaning that the two of them were able to get a shared apartment without having to worry about jobs, even if Cordelia wasn’t the biggest fan of taking advantage of her family’s wealth, as if it were just another string of control her mother could hold over her, even from several states away.

Being several states away from her family, however, didn’t last. Hank wanted to move back to New Orleans in order to take a good position high-up in his father’s company, and Cordelia knew well enough that she had several prospects of her own back in Louisiana. She also happened to miss her sister quite fiercely, and even if she was in love with Massachusetts, a part of her did miss New Orleans. Any indecision about it has already gone out the window since Hank proposed at her college graduation, and the two of them had agreed that, wherever they went, they went together.

So, despite her tumultuous relationship with her mother, Cordelia moved back to her Louisiana, maybe only a fifteen minute drive from her childhood home.

(Admittedly, though, she still doesn’t see Zoe as much as she should. Between her issues with her mother, her job, and just the fact that she was still in her twenties and trying to figure herself out, it’s hard to make time for her younger sister. Any spare hours she has laying around usually either get funneled into winding down, or, more often, Hank.)

(She doesn’t realize it then, and she won’t realize it later, either, but most of her relationships, whether with her friends or with Zoe, all start to fall to the wayside to make room for Hank.

It’s not healthy, and everyone else around her had started to notice.

Except her.)

-

To also understand the situation, you should also understand where Cordelia was at the time of her mother’s death, and why it took so long for the authorities to call her. In a sense, that also has to do with where she was one particular night eight months ago, and where her fiance was supposed to be.

Where she happened to be was at her apartment, the one she shared with her fiancé, Hank. It was where she was most nights after getting off work, and usually, Hank was there with her. That night, though, he’d said he had a conference with his father over the weekend, so he’d kissed her goodbye, climbed in his car, and drove to the next state over.

At least, that’s what he told her.

The lie began to unravel when, the night of Hank’s departure, his father rang the apartment to speak to him, due to the fact that his son had chosen to ignore his cell. Confused, Cordelia had asked the man about the conference that he and Hank were attending, and he told her that there was no conference at all.

It didn’t take long for Cordelia to go snooping, or to find the evidence she was seeking: Hank’s briefcase was still by the dining room table, and when she unlocked it, she saw them. Among the files and papers were two empty condom wrappers, and another one still sealed.

She knows they’re not for her. Cordelia takes birth control to keep her period in check, and she learned years ago that her body will never be able to make a baby.

From there, she starts packing. Not her own stuff, but his. There’s still a stack of folded down boxes in the closet from when they moved in, and she fills several to the brim with his clothes and other things of his. His movies, his books, his work things all get moved into boxes and stacked in the living room.

From there, she starts to go back over the apartment, tearing away traces of their life and trying to replace it with things that are just her. She pulls the photos of them off the fridge and throws them in with Hank’s shit, clips him out of photos on the fridge she wants to keep, and then puts those same ones back up, sans her cheating fiancé. Then, she strips the bed of the sheets, and after second consideration, she pulls the mattress off, too. She can afford a new one.

(They don’t really talk about it, but Fiona keeps a separate bank account under not only her own name, but her daughter’s, and the balance stays at a cool 15 grand. Cordelia doesn’t like to take from her mother’s money too often, trying to stake out her own life, but she’s dipped into the money once or twice. It never takes more than a few days for the balance to come right back up to 15,000 again, Fiona refilling the funds as easily as pouring water into a glass.

She can use Goode family money to replenish her apartment. Fiona never liked Hank anyway.)

Saturday dictates a shopping trip. She buys a new mattress, softer than their old one, the way she prefers it. The new sheets she puts on top are pale blue and a foamy white. On top of that, she buys new throw pillows for the couch, a new rug for the living room, a new painting to hang on the wall. She stops at a home improvement store and buys several plants as well, intent on adding more green to the space. By the time she gets home and redecorates, it may not look brand new, but it is markedly different than before.

Finally, Sunday morning brings Hank back. His key turns in the lock, and Cordelia barely glances up from the book she’s reading before he steps inside.

“Hey, I’m- woah,” he’d said, glancing around the apartment to see the changes. When his eyes landed on the boxes, clearly labeled  _ ‘Hank’,  _ they’d gone wide.

Cordelia set her book to the side with a soft noise, and proceeded to inform him that, today, he was going to be giving her his key, taking his name of the lease, and getting the hell out of  _ her  _ apartment. 

There’d been a fight, but he’d lost his ground to stand on, and he knew it. He’d begged, pleaded, had quite literally gotten down on both knees, but Cordelia was iron in her will, refusing to bend. After much protest, Hank began to move his boxes out of the apartment, taking what he could fit in his truck and offering to come back for the rest. With what used to be his key in her hand, she’d delighted in telling him that there would be no need, she’d be dropping everything else off at his father’s within the week, before slamming the door in his face.

In a perfect world, that would be the end, but it isn’t. Hank doesn’t simply disappear from there, even after she dumps away the rest of his stuff. Even after his name was taken off the lease, he continued to pop up at the apartment, trying to get her attention, to get her to talk to him, anything. When she got him banned from the property, his impromptu visits became drunk calls, him blowing up her phone after an evening at the bar, or another night spent drinking himself to death. She blocked him, of course, but he didn’t go away as easy as she had hoped. Soon, the calls started coming from his friend’s number, payphones, the phone of a stranger if he could borrow it. No matter how many numbers she blocked, how many voicemails she ignored, they still came in at least once a week, often more. 

And even if she was done with Hank, never wanted to see him again, there was still a certain amount of getting over him that needed to done. And getting over somebody is hard when they’re calling every five minutes because ‘they miss you’.

It takes two months and some change, but eventually, when it becomes clear that he won’t stop, Cordelia changes her number. That also meant she had to go down her phone list and actually let people know about the number change, and that’s what it takes for her to realize just how long it’s been since she talked to most of her friends. For some of them, it’s been months, even longer. Hank had never really gotten along with any of them, and even if she hadn’t realized it, she’d pulled away, put distance between them. It’d been weeks since she’d had a conversation with Vivien, her best friend, that went beyond pleasantries, let alone any of her other friends.

It’s weird to try and play catch-up, especially from so far away. Vivien’s daughter, Violet, had begun to sprout up like a weed, and despite the fact that she originally had no plans for kids, Alex had just given birth to and fallen in love with her son. Beyond that, the rest of her friends had started to take to their own lives, and Cordelia had been missing it.

That’s what gets her to agree to the trip Vivien plans. At her friend’s insistence, she packs a suitcase full of clothes and drives up to Chattanooga, Tennessee.

So, really, this was just a roundabout way of saying that a few months ago, Cordelia had changed her number to avoid drunk calls from her ex, and she was out of state in order to spend time and make amends with friends she neglected during her relationship. It is also, though, a testament to her determination: she decided she wanted Hank out of her life, and she made it happen, no going back or changing her mind.

(But mostly, it’s just an explanation for the beginning of the story.

And that starts with her speeding over the border into Louisiana on a Sunday afternoon.)


	2. secondhand news.

She’s nearly ten miles over the speed limit when she crosses the Louisiana border.

The call had come in while she was still in Tennessee. She’d ignored her ringing phone the first several times it went off, not only due to the early hour, but also on principle. Even though she’d changed her number months ago, she still avoided answering a call from any number she didn’t know, the result of Hank’s never-ending quest to drunk dial her as often as possible, no matter whose phone he had to use to get her attention.

On maybe the fifth ring, she answers, expecting either a very persistent telemarketer, or the possibility that Hank’s managed to track down her new number. What she isn’t expecting is a police officer on the other end, but that’s what she gets.

_ (“-We’ve been trying to call you since yesterday, the number on the next-of-kin files was out of date. Ms. Goode, it’s about your mother-”) _

Ergo, speeding over the border.

She’d only been in Chattanooga for a few days, trying to unwind with a couple old friends. She hadn’t seen most of them in months, or years, a result of their adult lives, but also her relationship with Hank. With prodding, Vivien had convinced her to come, and she’d found herself surprisingly eager to catch up with old friends.

(It was weird to see how much their lives had changed. Vivien was pregnant again, Alex had given birth to her son six months ago, and Paulina, like her older sister Jeanne, had finally managed to use college as an opportunity to slip out from under her mother’s grasp. Grace was still dating Kit, although there was apparently some growing tension there, and Shelby had just married her long-term boyfriend, Matt, after being engaged for maybe a few months, at most. As Cordelia had grown increasingly involved in her life with Hank, and trying to slip into adulthood, she’d missed out on important moments for her friends. This vacation was supposed to bring them all back together.)

(Her trip had been cut short the moment she’d answered the phone.)

She’d left the moment she’d gotten her stuff together, hopping in her car to immediately start the nearly five hundred mile drive back. She’d get there at late in the day, yes, but what matters was that she got there in the first place, so she drives like a bat out of hell, pulling into the New Orleans Police Department at a quarter past six. The station usually closed at five, but Officer Heirloom had assured her that, if she came as soon as she could, he’d be there to let her in.

The receptionist has left by the time she arrives, but in their place stands a tall man in a uniform, who offers Cordelia a small, if sad, smile when she walks in. 

“Ms. Goode?” He asks, extending his hand as she grows closer.

“That would be me,” she replies, reaching out to take the offered hand and shake it.

“My name is Officer Heirloom, we spoke on the phone,” he informs her. “But, between you and me, you can just call me Luke. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

As they walked, he turns back to her over his shoulder. “I’m sorry it took us until today to get into contact with you,” he apologizes. “We didn’t get your phone number until one of your mother’s staff was able to provide it for us this morning.”

Somewhere they could talk turns out to be a small, warmly lit room, with a two couches and a chair, which he sat down in. Setting her bag down by the door, she take a seat on one of the sofas, back straight and her hands folded in her lap.

“So I- I know what you told me on the phone,” she starts. “But- are you sure Zoe is okay?”

“Your sister is fine,” he assures her. “She wasn’t home at the time of the fire, and from what I’ve been informed, she’s currently staying at the house of a friend, Charlie Taylor.”

Cordelia breathes out, trying to steady herself. “Okay,” she says. “So- what happened?”

“Well, we’re still looking into it, as par for the course for any fire,” he tells her. “But we think we’re most likely looking at a regular house fire, caused by an accident. If anything changes, we’ll let you know, of course.”

“And my mother? What- how?”

“I’m sorry?”

She swallows. There’s a warmth that prickles at the back of her eyelids, and she pushes it away. “I don’t- what do I do? With- I don’t know what’s the procedure here? Do I call funeral directors now, and what about Zoe? I have no idea what to do here.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t help you with most of those questions,” he says. “But, I was contacted by a lawyer earlier to do, a David Zhong, I believe? He informed me he was a lawyer for your mother, and asked a lot of questions. He also asked that I would mention to you that he’d be calling you soon.”

Cordelia nods. She was, in fact, familiar with Mr. Zhong  He was exactly the kind of person Fiona wanted when he was in front of a jury: succinct, persuasive, and cunning. Outside of the courtroom, however, he was smart, witty, but also kind, much kinder than she might have expected of a lawyer her mother hired. They didn’t interact often, but she had nothing to hold against the man, and knowing that he would be reaching out, helping her figure all this out, was a small comfort, at least.

There’s a long moment of silence before she clears her throat. “I- is that all?

“Well, there is a few questions more,” he tells her. “While we don’t suspect any foul play, there is one thing that is a little odd that I’d like to get your opinion on. What do you make of the fact that your mother was the only one at home at the time of the fire?”

“Wait, you said Zoe was at a friend’s house when the fire started,” Cordelia replies. “Why is that suspicious?”

“Your sister’s whereabouts weren’t the suspicious ones, ma’am,” he explains. “But, it says here that your mother employed a full-time butler, as well as a part-time chef and a part-time maid, and on the day of the fire, they were all supposed to be there, but none of them were present when the fire department arrived.”

“All of them?”

“Yes ma’am. We wanted to get your opinion on the house’s staff, what you make of them. Would you consider it possible that maybe, they had something to do with this?”

Cordelia stopped. She’d never met the chef, a thirty-something woman named Ivy, but she had known the maid and butler. She’d never particularly cared for the latter, an aging man named Spalding, but she had liked Moira, a younger redhead who, as far as Cordelia knew, was nothing but nice. If there was anybody to suspect, it would be the butler, but she had a hard time believing that. He’d worked for them for most of Cordelia’s life, in some way or the other, and in his own, weird way, he was devoted to Fiona. Even if he was creepy, she knew the man would never have killer her mother.

“Spalding’s been working for my mother since I was little,” she says, finally. “He’s… a little odd, for sure, but I don’t think he’s capable of even thinking of hurting my mother. I haven’t actually met the chef, but the maid… Moira’s kind of quiet, but she's nice. I don't think she ever would have done something like this, either.”

“And if the chef were to have been behind it, and she had told the two of them not to come in that day, what do you think they would have done?”

“Spalding, for sure, would have done something about it, and even if she is kind of… timid, I doubt Moira would have just let it go, either.”

“So, if you were me, you'd take the two of them off the suspects list?”

“I would,” she confirms. “Why were they all out of the house, though? Did you ask them?”

“We did. They all told us the same thing, that your mother gave them the day off.”

Cordelia raises an eyebrow. “She did?”

“That's what they've said,” he replies. “Although I have to say, you seem surprised by that.”

“My mother isn't really the type to give her entire staff a day off,” she says, with a huff of laughter. “Or, well, she wasn't, I guess.”

He hums. “Ms. Goode, how would you describe your relationship with your mother?”

She smiles, but it’s bittersweet. “Well, if I'm honest, it wasn't the best,” she admits. “My mother and I have never really gotten along. It's one of the reasons I went to college so far away from home.”

“And yet, you moved back to the same town after you graduated? Why is that?”

“Well, my fiance at the time was also from here, and had a job with his parents waiting for him,” she tells him. “Plus, despite my issues with my mom, I've always loved my sister, and I missed being close to her.”

Luke nods, before clearing his throat. “Forgive me for asking,” he starts. “But according to what we’ve heard, despite living in the nearby area, you didn't spend a lot of time with your family.”

“I try to, it was just- the issues my mother and I had never really went away,” Cordelia explains, but she leans back, straightens her jaw. It’s clear to her that, despite his demeanor, he’s turning this on her, trying to explore her relationship with Fiona now. “She didn't like being wrong, and I was tired of giving in, so we didn’t see much of each other. It did extend on Zoe, which isn’t fair, but it’s just how it happened.”

“And you fight often with your mother?”

“When I was younger, yes, but not often as of late, now that I’m an adult, with my own job and my own apartment,” she replies. “You do seem awfully interested in my relationship with my mother.”

He offers her a smile, but she can tell he knows he’s been caught. “Just doing my job, ma'am.”

“Are there any other questions?”

“Not really, no,” he says. “Do you have any questions for me? I'd be more than happy to answer them, if I can.”

“My sister,” Cordelia replies. “I know you said that questions about custody weren’t really in your wheelhouse, but- what happens now? Who takes care of her?”

“Well, like I said, that would be a better question for your mother's lawyer,” he repeats. “But, I have to say, I'm sure nobody would be objecting if you were to take her in, at least for now.”

Cordelia swallows. “So if I were to go pick her up now...?”

“I doubt you'd be any trouble,” he says, with a grin. “Certainly, I won’t be coming to stop you.”

She dips her head. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Goode,” he assures. “Can I do anything else for you, or shall I escort you out?”

“If you would, that would be great.”

“No problem,” he replies, standing and moving towards the exit. “After you, ma’am.’

She steps out into the hallway, and he pulls the door closed after them. As he walks her out, she can see the few people milling about, preparing to head home. Through the windows outside, she can see the sun has sunk lower into the sky, the hint of sunset apparent. Officer Luke leads her all the way to the front doors, the same ones she had come flying in through.

“If you need anything else, you’re more than welcome to call,” he tells her, offering his hand to shake. “And if we learn of anything else, we’ll be touch.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Have a good night.”

“You as well,” he offers, and with that, she steps out of the station and into the evening air.

(She makes it all the way to the safety of her car before the dam bursts and the sobs start.)

-

Once Cordelia’s calmed herself down enough to drive safely, and appear mostly presentable, the horizon is turning from blues to purples to orange, each shade just a little different every time she glances up. When she checks the time, her miniature breakdown clocks in at around fifteen minutes or so, which she supposes she deserves, considering the day.

(Even after crying, it’s still hard to process, like it still doesn’t feel real. Her mother had always seemed like this larger-than-life individual, and even despite their differences, it was hard to imagine a world without Fiona.)

With her eyes dried, and her face as freshened as it can be, she sets out for the Taylor home. Officer Heirloom had offered her the address during their phone call that morning, while she was still in Tennessee, and she’s saved it to her phone. Now, she follows her GPS across town, into the nicer homes that many of Zoe’s classmates live in. 

It isn’t a very far drive, maybe twenty minutes or so, but it seems to take longer than that. Her fingers drum an impatient rhythm against the steering wheel, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth as she checks the glowing numbers on her dashboard again.

By the time she’s actually pulling up to the Taylor’s house, the sky has actually started to darken, and the streetlights have lit up in anticipation. She puts the car in park along the cur and climbs out the car, starting her way up the driveway to the house.

She never actually makes it there, because when she’s only a foot or two away from the porch, the front door swings open, and Zoe stands in the threshold. Her long brown hair is loose and wavy, and her cheeks are pale, washed out. She stares at Cordelia for a moment, her eyes starting to well with water, and then she’s moving, taking a single step before lunging forward, throwing herself towards her sister. The blonde squats down to the girl’s level just in time to catch her weight, the force of it nearly sending them both to the ground.

“Delia,” Zoe cries, burying her face in the side of the older girl’s neck, skinny arms wrapping around Cordelia’s middle. She doesn’t say anything else, but her body shakes as she weeps, and Cordelia can feel the tears against her skin. The sound of it all but breaks her heart, and she rubs a hand over Zoe’s back, doing her best to make soothing noises.

“Mommy’s dead,” Zoe whimpers, once the worst of her sobs has passed.

“I know,” Cordelia murmurs back, and Zoe only clings tighter, as much as her small frame can manage. They stay like that for another minute or two longer, until Zoe’s breathing begins to calm, and her crying turns silent, starting to slow.

When Cordelia finally pulls back, she can see Mrs. Taylor hanging a few feet back, lingering at the top of the porch stairs, a backpack that must be Zoe’s in her hands.

Cordelia stands and straightens, keeping one hand on her sister’s back, still rubbing small circles. “Thank you for watching her,” she says, reaching out to take the bag when the other woman offers it.

Mrs. Taylor smiles, but not the kind meant for happy people. It’s the kind of smile meant for comforting the sad, the grieving, the kind of smile Cordelia hasn’t really seen since she was seven years old and her father had died.

“Of course,” she replies. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Cordelia only nods in lieu of speaking, and after a moment, offers a quiet goodbye, prompting Zoe to do the same. Her sister does, reaching out to grab the blonde’s fingers tight in her own, and as they start to walk back to the car, she looks up at the older girl with wide eyes.

“Where do I go now?” She asks, voice soft, a little scared, and Cordelia squeezes her small hand.

“Well, for now, you come home with me,” she replies. “And we’ll work the rest out from there, okay?”

Zoe nods. “Okay.”

The drive back to Cordelia’s apartment is quiet, the two of them silent for most of the way, while the radio in the background is soft, and nothing either of them really recognize. Zoe stares out the window as they go, and Cordelia finds herself at a loss for words, choosing to focus on the road instead. As she turns off the main road and into the parking lot of her apartment complex, it occurs to her that as long as she’s lived her, Zoe’s never been over. Her mother’s dropped by once or twice, but for the most part, if they saw each other, it was either at their family home, or somewhere in public.

As she pulls into her space and turns the car off, she turns her head back to look at Zoe. “This is my building,” she says. “Where I live.”

Zoe presses her face against the glass. “It’s very big,” she says, matter-of-fact, but her face stays impassive. “What do you do with all the space?”

Cordelia blinks, before it dawns on her what the younger girl means. “Oh, I don’t- the  _ whole  _ thing isn’t mine,” she explains. “Only a couple of rooms are mine. A lot of people live here.”

“You all live inside the same house?” Zoe questions, looking confused as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“No, it’s more like… a neighborhood,” the blonde replies. “But inside.”

“Oh, okay,” Zoe says, before opening the car and climbing out.

( _ She’s so small,  _ Cordelia thinks, and makes a note to herself that if she thinks she’s going to be caring for Zoe, at least for the short-term, she ought to get her a car seat. There’s probably one still in her mother’s car, too, but she has no idea how she’ll be getting her hands on that, or really, anything left in the family home, until she at least talks to the lawyer.)

Zoe still seems pretty thrown off as Cordelia shows her into the building, offering her doorman the friendliest smile she can manage before heading to the elevator. Normally, she’d just walk the stairs up to her apartment, but when she glances over to see her sister’s eyes drooping, she decides against it.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Cordelia asks, on the way up to her floor. Zoe nods.

“Charlie’s mom made pasta,” she replies, rubbing at her face. “It was good.”

Cordelia hums. “Are you tired?”

Her sister shrugs. “Yeah, I guess,” she says, but as soon it comes out of her mouth, it’s followed by a yawn. Cordelia’s lips tug up at the corner, almost a smile, and she reaches out to run a hand through the girl’s hair, as if on instinct.

The elevator dings once it reaches its destination, and as Cordelia makes her way down the hallway to her door, Zoe trails after her, glancing around at the doors on either side of her.

“It looks like a bunch of offices,” she mumbles.

“Kind of,” Cordelia agrees, as they come to a stop outside her apartment. She fishes through her purse for her keys, and once she’s got them in hand, she unlocks the door, stepping inside and flicking on the lights. Zoe almost hesitates before following, looking around with blinking eyes. She comes to a stop only a few feet inside, even as Cordelia moves around her to close the door, toeing off her flats and taking off her coat. Instead of copying her older sister, Zoe only watches this, still in place, as if she’s unsure of herself.

“Do you, uh, need help?” Cordelia asks. That seems to snap Zoe out of her staring, and she shakes her head.

“No, I can do it,” she replies. For a moment or two, she tries to kick off her shoes with her toes, but when they stay stubbornly wedged on her feet, she has to bend over and unlace them before the sneakers will come off, taking one of her socks with them, too. Once she’s free of them, Zoe tucks them neatly on the rack alongside Cordelia’s collection of footwear.

When she straightens up, though, she stops. It’s almost a little bit of an odd image. The shirt she’s wearing is black and neon green, an oversized tee likely borrowed from her friend, and it clashes with the nice car coat she’s wearing. Then, of course, there’s the patterned leggings and singular sock, her left foot covered and her right one bare. Normally, Cordelia would stifle a chuckle at the sight.

She doesn’t laugh, however, because when she turns back to look at her sister, she can see the next wave of tears starting to form in the girl’s eyes.

“Oh, Zo,” she murmurs, and when she bends down and opens her arms, Zoe steps into them, arms around her sister’s neck. Cordelia only holds her as the younger girl begins to bawl.

“I know, I know,” she hums, when Zoe begins to mumble something unintelligible against her shoulder. “I know, Zo.”

The second round of crying doesn’t last as long as the first, and Zoe is the one to pull away this time, wiping at her eyes as if the tears are what she’s upset with, not her mother’s death.

“I’m tired,” she tells Cordelia, somewhere between a mutter and a mumble. The older of the two nods.

“Do you want to take off your coat?” She offers.

Zoe nods, shrugging the coat off of her shoulders, and hands it off to her sister, who hangs it up on the rack by the door. From there, she reaches down to peel off her other sock, tucking it into one of her shoes.

“Good?” Cordelia asks, and when Zoe nods, she hesitates.

“Do you need, like, a glass of water, or anything before bed?”

“No,” Zoe answers. “I just wanna go to sleep.”

(It’s this moment that Cordelia realizes that they’re standing in her one bedroom apartment, and the only places to sleep are either her bed itself, or the couch in the living room, the latter of which she’d rather not put her sister up in.)

“Okay,” Cordelia replies. “The bedroom is this way, come on.”

She leads her back through the apartment into her room, making sure to point out the bathroom on the way in case the girl has to use it in the middle of the night. Zoe follows behind her, mute. She stays silent even as she slips off her legging before crawling into bed, even as Cordelia is pulling the covers back over her.

When she reaches over to turn off the lamp, however, a hand reaches out to grab her by the wrist, and she glances down to see her sister looking up at her with wide eyes.

“Will you stay?” Zoe asks.

Cordelia pauses for a second, before she nods. “If you want,” she replies. “Just let me go turn off all the lights, okay?”

“Okay,” Zoe replies. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Okay,” the blonde echoes. “I’ll be right back.”

Zoe watches from the bed as Cordelia steps out of the room, back towards the front door. Most of the lights are still off from when she left, so she flicks off the one by the entrance, and makes sure that the lamp in the living room isn’t on, either.

Once the apartment is darkened, the only light coming in through the window, Cordelia comes back into the room and climbs into the other side of the bed. Almost immediately, Zoe rolls over to face her.

“Delia?” She whispers. “Do I live with you now?”

“I’m not quite sure yet, Zoe,” Cordelia answers, honestly. “But we’re gonna figure it out, okay? And no matter what happens, you’re always going to have me.”

“So you’re not gonna leave me?”

Cordelia shakes her head against the pillows. “Never.”

Zoe nods, and after a moment, lays her hand in the space between them, palm up. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Cordelia replies, reaching out to place her hand over her sister’s. Zoe’s fingers wrap around it, like the contact is what seals the vow between them.

“Okay. Love you.”

Cordelia smiles, and it almost manages to reach her eyes. “I love you, too.”

Zoe dozes off not long after that, and Cordelia follows a few minutes later, the two still holding hands in the empty space between them.

-

The next morning, Cordelia wakes up to find that her sister has shifted closer in the middle of the night, and has somehow shifted from holding the blonde’s hand to her entire forearm, all but wrapping her small body around it. The older of the two blinks, confused, before the events of the previous day come back to her. The idea of her mother being dead crawls up into her throat, and she tries to swallow the lump it forms as she works to pull her arm away from Zoe without waking her.

It takes a minute or two, but once she’s free, she climbs off the bed and slips out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. All the lights in the apartment are still off, but sunlight comes streaming in through the windows in the living room. The natural lighting is one of the reasons she (and Hank, she supposes) had chosen here over some of the other places they’d looked at.

When Cordelia goes to take stock of her kitchen, however, she almost winces. The selection of breakfast foods she have may be rather appealing to her, but she can’t imagine her sister will be as happy with almonds and whole-grain oatmeal. Along those lines, there’s nothing in her fridge to drink except for filtered or sparkling water, a bottle of white wine, and a can or two of soda. Not necessarily the top choice of seven and eight year olds.

Eventually, she pulls out the three of the few eggs she has left, crackling them into a bowl to be scrambled, and pops a few slices of bread in the toaster. Not the most lavish of meals, sure, but edible enough.

Zoe emerges only a few minutes or two before she’s done, but she says nothing as she pads into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. By the time she’s coming back out, Cordelia is sliding eggs onto two different plates.

“Are you hungry?” She asks.

Zoe shrugs. “Yeah,” she replies. “I guess.”

Cordelia hands her a plate with a fork, and Zoe takes it with a soft  _ ‘thank you’ _ , climbing into one of the seats at the kitchen island. She eats slowly, quiet except for chewing. It’s strange to see her so quiet for Cordelia. Zoe’s not the loudest child she’s ever met, sure, but she’s never really been the type for long periods of silence. She tends to be bright, and happy, and smiling. It’s weird to see her like this.

(Then again, it’s weird to think that her mother is dead, but that’s… well....)

Cordelia hesitates, before clearing her throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Sad,” Zoe answers, honestly, barely glancing up from her plate. Instead of taking a bite, however, she pushes around some of the eggs on her plate with a quiet sigh. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I am,” Cordelia replies. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Zoe shrugs, but she opens her mouth anyway. “I just don’t understand why she had to die,” she says, voice soft. “On TV and stuff, people die when they do bad things, or when they get really old. But Mommy didn’t do either of those things, so why did she die?”

Cordelia swallows. “Sometimes, it doesn’t really make sense why people die,” she explains. “Accidents happen, or sometimes, people get sick. And it’s okay to be sad when stuff like this happens, too, because it isn’t fair.”

“But if it isn’t fair, then why does it still happen?”

“Sometimes life is just like that, Zo,” she tells her. “It doesn’t always make sense, or seem okay.”

Zoe frowns, lines forming in forehead. “That’s stupid,” she replies, and says nothing else on the subject.

The two finish the rest of the meal in silence, Zoe pushing away her plate once she’s mostly finished. Cordelia rinses them both off and sets the sink.

The moment she turns back to face her sister, she’s met with a force colliding with her side. Zoe’s managed to get out of her seat and come around the kitchen island with being noticed, and she throws herself against Cordelia. Without the blonde bending down, Zoe’s head is at her stomach, which makes for an odd hug, but she does her best.

“Am I gonna have to go to school today?” She asks.

“No,” Cordelia replies. “You don’t have to go back to school for a while, if you don’t want to.”

Zoe nods. “This boy in my class was out for three weeks after his mother died,” she adds, tilting her head up to look at her sister, chin digging into the older girl’s hip. “He lives with his aunt now, I think. He doesn’t really talk to me that much anymore. He always looks sad.”

“It’s okay to be sad for a long time,” Cordelia offers. “If it’s how you feel, then it’s how you feel.”

“Am I gonna be like that?”

“Maybe,” Cordelia offers honestly. “Maybe not. But either way, it’s okay to feel sad about it.”

Zoe tucks her face back into the space below Cordelia’s ribs, small arms still twined around her sister. With a sad smile, Cordelia runs a hand through the younger girl’s hair, brown locks sliding through her fingers.

(They spend the rest of the day huddled inside of Cordelia’s apartment. Zoe wraps herself in blankets and curls against the blonde’s side like a cat as they watch movies, and they get take-out for lunch and dinner to avoid having to leave the shelter of the living room and their ‘happy-movies-only’ Disney marathon. They take breaks only to use the bathroom, although Cordelia does step out twice to make phone calls, one to her boss and one to Zoe’s school.

And true, Zoe may not smile the entire time, but she does seem content

For now, Cordelia decides, that can be enough.

Either way, it’s a start.)


	3. show me a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, this is going up late, and relatively unedited, because i've got a small injury, so i can't really spend a lot of time looking at the computer

The lawyer calls the next morning, three days after her mother’s death.

It’s seven-fifteen when the phone goes off, which means that Zoe is still asleep, curled in the center of the bed with the covers wrapped around her like a cocoon. Cordelia, however, is already awake and making a pot of coffee, her internal alarm continuing to go off at six-thirty in the morning despite the fact that she’s off work. When her cell starts to ring, she answers right away, mostly to stop the noise in case it was loud enough to wake her sister in the next room over.

_ “Ms. Goode?” _

It takes her a moment or two to place the voice before she recognizes it as David Zhong, her mother’s lawyer. Smart, witty, and kinder than she might have expected of someone her mother hired for the courtroom. Despite his warm demeanor, though, he was exactly the kind of person Fiona wanted when he was in front of a jury: succinct, persuasive, and cunning. It could almost give someone whiplash to witness the change, and Cordelia had found herself rather impressed in watching him work.

“Mr. Zhong,” she replies. “I wondered when I would be hearing from you.”

_ “I thought it might be best to give you a little time,”  _ he replied.  _ “I am so very sorry for your loss.” _

“Thank you,” she says. “But I doubt you only called to offer your condolences.”

He chuckles lightly, the faintest of huffs.  _ “You’d be correct about that, ma’am. As much as I would like to give you space to grieve, there is still business to attend to.” _

“With my mother, I’d expect nothing less,” she murmurs. “What’s first?”

_ “Well, the big thing is your mother’s will,”  _ he starts.  _ “And, of course, we will need to meet a few times in person, and there will need to be an official reading of the will, but I thought it best to tell you beforehand… Ms. Goode, she left you everything.” _

Cordelia blanks. “I- everything?”

_ “Well, there is money set aside to pay me through the next month and a half or so, to take care of all the legal proceedings and anything else that might arise,”  _ he explains.  _ “And there’s also been a small amount left to the butler, as well, but, according to her final will and testament, you’re set to inherit everything else. All her wealth, the house, any other property, or anything worth even a modicum of money. And, well… custody. Of your sister.” _

“Of Zoe?”

Mr. Zhong hums in agreement.  _ “Legally, you aren’t obligated to accept custody, but your mother was very clear about her wishes and what she wanted. She made it sound as if she was very certain you would take her, but I thought it might be best to warn you, as this is still a big decision, and will have a big impact on your life.” _

She doesn’t really even if register half of what he’s saying. Of course, it makes sense. Fiona’s always refused to name Zoe’s father aloud to anyone, Cordelia included, and as both of her mother’s parents are dead, the only relative left is Cordelia herself. It shouldn’t take her by surprise, especially since she’s already considered the possibility of it happening, but hearing it out loud is different.

_ “Ms. Goode?” _

The lawyer’s voice snaps her out of her thoughts, and she clears her throat as if it will help clear her mind. “Yes, I’m still here.”

_ “I’m not asking you to make a decision now, but I would like to know sooner rather than later whether you’ve decided to take custody, so I can start to make preparations if you decide-” _

“I’m taking her,” she interrupts. “Zoe’s my sister. I’ll take custody.”

_ “While that is exactly the news I wanted to hear, I do have to check- are you sure? A child is a big responsibility-” _

“Zoe is my  _ sister,”  _ Cordelia repeats. “If custody is left to me, I’m taking it.”

She can almost hear the smile in his voice when he speaks next. “ _ Glad to hear it,”  _ he says. “ _ There’ll still be paperwork to be done for it, of course, and a social worker will be assigned to the case. But, seeing as there’s nobody else who could try and claim a right to custody, and considering your stable job and the rather hefty amount of money you’ve just inherited, there won’t be any issue. And, if there is, it’s my job to get rid of it, and I’m very good at my job.” _

His confidence is enough to tug her lips up at the corners. “Thank you, Mr. Zhong.”

_ “I feel like I’ve told you before that you can just call me David.” _

“If I’m calling you David, you ought to be calling me Cordelia, then,” she replies, and he laughs at that, a real laugh.

_ “Fair enough,”  _ he replies.  _ “I’m sure, however, that you have things to get done today, and I’m about to head out to meet with Mr. Spalding about his portion of the will, so I’ll let you get back to your morning. If there’s anything you need my help with, you’re more than welcome to call at any time. Anything you and Zoe may need help with, I’m here.” _

It’s a genuine, real offer, and she can’t help but be touched. “Thank you,” she says.

_ “Of course. Always a pleasure, Cordelia.” _

“You as well, David,” she replies, bidding him goodbye before hanging up.

She doesn’t really realize the full implications of what she’s just agreed to until after she’s set the phone aside. It’s the obvious choice, of course, and there’s no way she’d leave Zoe at the hands of the state, or wherever else she’d end up, but-

She just agreed to take custody of a child. A second grader. For the next ten years (and some change), she’s responsible for caring for, clothing, and feeding a whole other human being, and whatever else she might need.

(It’s not that Cordelia doesn’t love her sister. It’s not even that she doesn’t want children, because she does, it’s just that-)

Her mother was supposed to be doing this.

It hits her like a train. Her mother was supposed to be doing this, was supposed to be making sure Zoe got a roof over her head and food in her stomach.  _ Fiona  _ was supposed to be making sure Zoe got to school on time, got home safe, was happy and healthy and thriving.

But her mother can’t do that anymore. She’s dead.

The thought, the permanence of it, seems to climb inside her chest there and settle, like a weight. Cordelia can feel the tears climbing to her eyes, and this time, there’s no pushing them down. Instead, she sinks to the ground, buries her head in her hands, and sobs.

Zoe appears almost at the sound of it, as if she was summoned, and comes pattering down the hallway. She doesn’t hesitate before dropping down, and she crawls into the space between the blonde’s knees, throwing her arms around her sister. In response, Cordelia pulls her sister into her chest, pressing her nose into the top of the girl’s head, and cries. Maybe later, she’ll be embarrassed about the fact that her nearly-eight year old sister is the one watching her cry, but in the moment, she’s grateful.

They stay there even after the tears have dried, sitting cross-legged on the floor. They don’t speak for nearly fifteen minutes, until Zoe finally breaks the silence.

“I heard you talking on the phone earlier,” she admits. “Was that the lawyer?”

“Yeah, it was,” Cordelia answers. Her sister pauses, as if she’s thinking over her next words before she says them.

“What happens now, Delia?”

Cordelia leans over to brush the hair from her sister’s face, pressing a kiss into her forehead. “What happens is that we stick together,” the blonde replies, cupping one of the younger girl’s cheeks in her hand. “Everything else will work out from there.”

In response, Zoe smiles for the first time since their mother died.

-

(‘Working it out from there’ is not quite as easy as Cordelia thought it would be.)

-

They both take the rest of the week off, from both school and work. For the most part, they stay in, but there are still errands to be run. Groceries need to be bought, of course, but Zoe also needs the other necessities, like clothes, and toiletries, things she lost when the house burned down. If she’s going to be living with Cordelia, permanently, she’s going to need more than an outfit and a half, so they take a day to get Zoe enough clothes to wear, as long as some of the other basics: shampoo and soap, a toothbrush, things like that. It’s a quiet affair, as it’s hard to forget that they’re only there because almost everything Zoe owned is still lying among the charred remains of the family home.

Things aren’t all sunshine and rainbows. Although the crying jags become less frequent, it’s still a near daily occurrence for Zoe in the beginning, and Cordelia sometimes finds herself shedding a few tears after her sister’s gone to bed. The adjustment for the both of them is hard, but they do their best to power through it together. 

The Tuesday after their mother dies, Zoe goes back for her first day at school. Cordelia is hesitant to send her back, but at Zoe’s quiet insistence that she’s ready, she agrees to let the girl go back, dropping her off at the pick-up lane of the girl’s elementary school ten minutes early and promising to be waiting right outside to pick her up the second the day is over.

(She picks her up early, in the end, when Zoe bursts into tears in the middle of story time, inconsolable.)

They try again on Wednesday, and when Zoe makes it through the whole day without incident, Cordelia returns to work the following day. Her boss, an eccentric woman by the name of Myrtle Snow, has been incredibly forgiving and generous in the time following Fiona’s death, having known the woman personally, and while Cordelia has become rather unsure of how she feels about her job, she can’t help but be grateful for Myrtle. 

Two weeks in, they’ve managed to settle into a routine. Cordelia drops Zoe off at school in the mornings before work, and picks her up from the after school SAC program once she gets off. Zoe isn’t a big fan of the SAC program and, to be honest, Cordelia isn’t in love with the idea, either, but it’s at least a temporary situation until they can find a better option.

Two weeks in is also when they have their first squabble.

For the most part, Cordelia’s been doing her best to provide a decent dinner every night, one that doesn’t get delivered by a teenager working part-time. Admittedly, not every meal is the pinnacle of healthy eating, but her primary concern is that her sister is eating a full meal that isn’t complete junk.

She doesn’t expect fishsticks to be an issue. Sure, they aren’t the most healthy of meals, but they’re easy, and after the long day Cordelia’s had of playing catch-up at work, it’s a relief to just throw them into the oven and let them cook. Twenty minutes later, when the oven timer goes off, she can just put some on a plate and serve them with ketchup.

However, when she slides Zoe a plate, the girl’s nose wrinkles. “What are these?” She asks, poking at one of the sticks.

“They're fishsticks,” Cordelia answers, and her sister frowns.

“I don’t like fishsticks.”

The blonde arches an eyebrow. “Have you ever tried fishsticks?”

“I don’t like them.”

“Could you just try one?” Cordelia asks.

“I don’t want to,” Zoe insists.

Cordelia’s brow furrows. She’s unused to seeing such a stubborn side of her sister. “Zoe-”

“No!” The girl shouts, slamming her hands down on the table. Taken aback, Cordelia only watches as Zoe jumps up from her chair and storms off into the bedroom, closing the door behind her with just a little too much force. 

Left in the living room, Cordelia blinks in surprise. If she’s honest, she has no idea what to do now. The only thing close to spats she ever had with Zoe was when the girl was still little, got mad about silly little things and cried for a few minutes before either falling asleep, being fed, or deciding she wasn’t really upset after all. Now, though, she’s at a loss about what to do.

A few minutes later, maybe five, Cordelia’s contemplating going to go knock on the bedroom door when it opens on it’s own, and Zoe steps out, looking considerably calmer than she did before. She slumps across the room until she’s a few feet away from the table.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her gaze trained on the floor. It comes out small and defeated, in the same voice Zoe tends to use before or after crying, and that’s enough to melt away any mixed feelings Cordelia might still have about the outburst.

“What’s wrong with fishsticks?” She asks, her voice gentle and prompting.

“I don’t like fish.”

“When have you ever had fish?”

“Ivy made it once,” Zoe explains, using the fingers of one hand to trace circles into the palm of the other, still avoiding eye contact. “It was pink, like ham, but it didn’t taste very good.”

“That was probably salmon, then, but fish sticks are different,” Cordelia replies. “Are you sure you don't want to try them?”

Zoe shakes her head, the wrinkle in her nose reappearing as her face scrunches up. “Can I have cereal instead?” She asks, finally lifting her head to meet her sister’s gaze. Her lips are still drawn in a frown, and her eyes are pleading.

With a sigh, Cordelia relents, nodding. At that, Zoe seems to perk up, and when her sister reaches to tap the space at the table across from her, the girl climbs back into her chair from earlier. While the positive change in her mood is obvious, she still seems to curl in on herself, as if she were actively trying to make herself appear smaller.

(Cordelia isn’t sure if she wants to think about why that is, so instead, she grabs Zoe’s abandoned plate of fish sticks and heads into the kitchen to replace it with cereal.)

(Maybe that’s for the best. The answer just would have made her sad, anyway.)

-

Even with the routine they’ve settled into, Cordelia has to admit that the system they’ve created isn’t without flaws.

For one, Zoe is not incredibly thrilled about the after-school program she’s been attending. To be fair, it’s a change in pace from her previous routine, before her mother died. Until recently, she was always picked up right when school let out, and brought straight home, where there was always someone to give her a snack and ask her how her day was, whether it was her mother or a member of staff. Now, when her class lets out for the day, Zoe trudges down to the school’s gym, and spends a few hours around a bunch of kids she doesn’t really know, and a bunch of adults she’s never really met before. She doesn’t complain, not without prompting, but she also isn’t shy about telling Cordelia how she feels about the SAC program.

She’s also having some trouble with the school itself. While a behavior shift is to be expected in a child after the loss of a parent, Zoe’s teacher has mentioned that the girl seems incredibly withdrawn in class, beyond what was expected. She’s never been the most talkative, but now she’s nearing silent, only speaking when prompted to. It’s not too abnormal, her teacher’s assured Cordelia, but it also isn’t really a positive development, either.

And, to top it all off, there’s their living situation. Since the first night Cordelia brought Zoe back to her apartment, they’ve been sharing the same bed every night, and despite the fact that the bed itself is rather sizable, it’s rather inconvenient. Often, Cordelia will wake up with a random limb in her face, or her blankets stolen. It wasn’t too big of a nuisance at first, but as the days go by, she has to admit it’s become more annoying with time. The feeling is growing mutual,  Zoe often trying to move Cordelia over in the middle of the night if she decides her sister’s gotten too close to her space. It’s also become a common occurrence that one of them will accidentally wake the other up, whether it’s Zoe trying to use the bathroom at night, or Cordelia waking up early on the weekends.

After three weeks have gone by, it’s becoming more apparent that the apartment situation is a problem. With only one bedroom, and only one bed, there’s something akin to a lack of privacy sprouting; when they need their own space, it isn’t always there to be found. Cordelia’s finding it almost intrusive to have to share an area that should be hers, and only hers, while Zoe is living in space that she has no real claim or connection to. The younger of the two still moves around the apartment as if she’s unsure of how to act, as if she might be scolded for making a mistake, and she still carries an air of uncertainty around her. It’s almost like she’s expecting to be snatched up from the apartment, like she’s there on a temporary basis instead of a permanent one.

There’s not really much of a choice to be made here, Cordelia realizes. Even if her apartment is nice, rather spacious for a one bedroom, it simply isn’t enough for both her and Zoe, not with the grumpy sort of tension that’s grown between them when it comes to shared space. It may have been fine on the short-term, but seeing as Cordelia’s taken custody of her sister for what should be the next ten years or so, they’re not looking at short-term anymore. And, considering that her lease is up soon anyway, the answer seems pretty obvious.

They’ve got to move.

She brings it up to Zoe first, before she starts to look at rental listings. While she doesn’t really need the girl’s approval or permission, it also isn’t something she wants to throw on her sister, either. After the massive upheaval to her life as of late, Cordelia’s loathe to spring yet another surprise on Zoe.

They’re in the car on the way home from school when she broaches the topic. “How do you feel about moving?”

In the rear-view mirror, Cordelia glances up just in time to meet the girl’s eyes. “Moving?” Zoe echoes, the smallest of crinkles forming above her brow.

“Mhmm,” Cordelia hums, reaching over to turn down the radio. “I know that there isn’t really a lot of space for both of at my apartment, so I was thinking that maybe we could look into living somewhere else. How would you feel about that?”

There’s a moment of silence as Zoe considers her response before she speaks. “Are we gonna move back home?”

The question is small and quiet, but it tugs at the blonde’s heartstrings. Home, of course, is their family home. It’s the only place Zoe’s ever lived, the only house she’s ever known. In the moment, Cordelia wishes she could say yes, wishes she could tell her sister what she knows the girl wants to hear, but she can’t.

“Zo, I wish we could,” she replies. “But the house burned down, honey. It’s gone.”

“I know,” Zoe mumbles, drawing circles against the car window with her finger. “I wish it wasn’t.”

“Me too,” Cordelia agrees. The conversation comes to a pause, both of them getting caught up in their thoughts, until Cordelia clears her throat as she moves to merge into another lane.

“So, moving,” she starts again. “How would you feel about maybe moving into a bigger apartment? One where we can each have our own bedroom?”

The part about having her own room seems to catch Zoe’s attention, and she sits a little straighter in her seat, clearly interested. At the sight, the corners of Cordelia’s lips twitch up.

“My own room?” Zoe repeats, and when her sister nods, she starts to smile. It’s not very big, but it’s there. It’s contagious, too, because Cordelia finds herself reflecting the expression back at her in the mirror.

“Is that a yes?” She asks, and Zoe nods, that small smile stuck on her face starting to grow. Affection swirls in Cordelia’s stomach as she laughs, moving to turn up the volume on the car stereo.

(They grin their way through the whole rest of the drive.)

From there, Cordelia starts working on the apartment search, intent on finding a new place to rent as soon as possible. She’s done it once before, when she and Hank had gone hunting and eventually settled on the unit she was currently living in, so she wasn’t completely out of her depth. There was, however, a lot more to consider this time around. Not only was she looking for a two bedroom this time around, but she was also trying to find a building still within the attendance zone of Zoe’s elementary school, which was one of the more limiting factors. And while money wasn’t an issue, Cordelia did have a job for a reason; she didn’t want to spend her whole life living off of her family money. While the added expenses of caring for Zoe had softened her stance to a point, she also didn’t intend to rent a place way out of her means. Besides, her job paid her well enough, and it shouldn’t be a challenge to find an apartment within her means that met all their needs.

Mostly, though, she just wanted a place that she was sure was safe. Yes, it had been a consideration of hers when she and Hank were looking for a place to rent, but now that she had Zoe, it was more of a priority. She and Hank were adults, capable of taking care of themselves, but her sister was just shy of eight years old. There was difference in her level of concern when it came to Zoe.

On top of the search, she managed to work out a deal with her boss. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, she would keep the same hours as usual, but on Mondays and Thursdays, she would work a few hours less, which allowed her to pick Zoe up from school as classes ended. It didn’t completely take Zoe out of the SAC program, which she was still considering a temporary solution at best, but it did mean that she only had to go three days out of the week instead of five.

(Honestly, after the past couple weeks, Cordelia considered calling the Vatican to see if she could have Myrtle Snow formally recognized as a saint.)

With her newly found time off on Mondays and Wednesdays, she used some of it to spend actual visiting apartments with Zoe. Some were busts, of course, being smaller than they were advertised, or dirtier, or just plain  _ off,  _ but there were a few that she liked, and one or two that Zoe seemed to really take an interest in.

Within two weeks of searching, and with some help from Zoe, a decision was made and an application was placed. It took barely more than a day for it to be approved, likely helped by the last name on paper and the wealth that came along with it, but Cordelia wasn’t going to pick this moment to complain. Especially not when some of that money was used to help grease the wheels with the landlord a little bit, allowing them to start moving in by the end of the week.

(The night after she signs the lease, they celebrate.

Well, maybe celebrate is a loose term. The last time Cordelia signed a new lease, she and Hank had gone out for a dinner at an obscenely nice restaurant. This time, she trades in the fancy platters and expensive wine with a date for Vietnamese take-out and apple juice with her sister, and even if they eat it curled up on either end of her living room couch while watching a kid’s movie, it’s still one of the best meals Cordelia’s ever had.)


	4. safe harbour.

They finish moving out on a Saturday morning.

The last week or so has been a mess of packing, every spare moment spent boxing things to be moved to the new apartment, or ordering new furniture they’ll need to fill up the extra space. Every free second Cordelia has is spent packing and taping and labeling. Ordering take-out replaces cooking dinner the last few days, at first to save time, but then because all the dishes, pots, and pans were packaged up for the move.

For the most part, the non-essentials have already been brought over to the new unit. Clothes Cordelia won’t be wearing until after the move, collections of CDs and movies, books and several smaller pieces of furniture are all moved and waiting to be unpacked, to lighten the load of what’ll be left to do on the actual moving day. Especially because, instead of hiring a moving company, Cordelia’s elected to do it herself. Well, and with some help from Shelby and her husband, seeing as they’ve recently moved back to Louisiana from North Carolina.

Zoe helps, too, carting around smaller boxes and other things she can carry. Lately, as the girl’s started to adjust, her mood having taken a noticeable shift, and she smiles more, laughs. She still has days where she lapses back into silence, stares at the ground to avoid people’s eyes, shrinks away from any human contact that doesn’t come from her sister. But there are also days where she talks the whole way home from school, days when she doesn’t cry at all, even at night. 

The day they move is somewhere in between. Zoe is quiet, but still eager to help. Even if she’s been clear about wanting to move into the new apartment, Cordelia can’t help but fret. She’s worried that she might be throwing too much transitioning onto the girl all at once: throwing her into the SAC program, moving her into a new apartment not once, but twice, in less than six weeks.

Still, though, Zoe is pleasant and upbeat the day of the move. There is a little hesitation in the way she interacts with Matt and Shelby, mostly due to the fact that she’s never met the former before, and her memories of the latter are probably so distant now that she’s forgotten them. Still, for a kid who’s not fond of strangers, Zoe seems to grow to like them rather quickly. Matt carries the same sort of quiet warmth that the younger girl does, and Shelby doesn’t talk down to her, tells jokes and smiles easy in a contagious sort of way. Shelby and Matt aren’t difficult people to like, and it isn’t hard to believe that Zoe would take to them so easily.

Almost all of the packing is done by the start of the moving day, and as Shelby starts to take the rest of the furniture apart, Shelby and Zoe fill the last of the boxes with the few items remaining. Meanwhile, Matt begins to move the boxes themselves, stacking them into the back of his truck and driving them over to the new apartment.

The teamwork of it all is what makes it so efficient. In the time it takes Cordelia, Shelby, and Zoe to finish emptying out the apartment, Matt’s got most of their things moved to the other building, and with some creative organization, as well as utilization of the space in Cordelia’s car, they manage to fit everything left over into one final load.

Cordelia is the last one left in the apartment after Matt carries down the final box, and Shelby follows after him with Zoe. The woman can clearly sense that Cordelia needs a moment alone, taking Zoe by the hand and nudging her off down the hall with a smile and a comment that happens to imply the suggestion of donuts in the near future.

As she takes one last walk into the apartment, Cordelia lets her fingertips trail along the marble countertops of the kitchen, along the sills on all the windows. The entire place has been striped bare, looking exactly as it had when she moved in. White walls and hardwood flooring, the fridge bare of photos and the living room lacking furniture. All of the plants have been taken out with everything else, and without them, the space feels almost lifeless.

The bedroom, once she enters it, is just as vacant as the rest of the unit. It’s odd to see it without the big bed inside, without the bookshelf by the window, her favorite rug on the floor, or the flower painting on the wall. Now, it’s just a blank room, waiting to be filled with someone else’s stuff, someone else’s life.

It’s funny, too, she realizes, because the same could be said about the new apartment. Somebody else lived there before her, filled the space with their things and the walls with their echoes. Now, Cordelia is the stranger moving in, completely unaware of whatever memories hang in the air around her.

Her phone buzzes, catching her attention, but it’s just a text from Shelby, letting her know that she, Zoe, and Matt are all in the parking lot, but also reminding Cordelia to take the time she needs. It’s a very Shelby-like message, and it causes her to smile for a second before she slips the cell back into her pocket. She ought to go.

And yet, she stops herself on the way out, glancing back at the apartment over her shoulder. She can still remember moving in with Hank, both of them laughing and smiling the whole time, or when he moved out, the look on his face when he’d walked through the door to find all of his things waiting for him. And there’s the more recent memories now, too, like the first time she brought Zoe back to her apartment, watching the girl stand and sway by the door as if she didn’t belong. Even if every memory here isn’t the happiest, they were all real, all Cordelia’s, and now it feels almost wrong to be leaving it behind.

That is, however, the nature of change. Seasons come and go, the tides change, and the winds blow. Not everything is a constant, and some places aren’t meant to be permanent. She’d never rented this apartment with the intent of living here forever, but she also hadn’t expected to be leaving quite yet. The idea of never being back makes her feel a strange sort of sad. 

But, maybe it’s for the best, too. Her sister and their new apartment are in front of her, and now she has the chance to fill a new place with history, etch more echoes into the walls and floorboards. Whatever’s coming next, even if it’s just a new apartment, is waiting for her.

(There’s more than that waiting there for her, but Cordelia doesn’t quite know it yet.)

With a smile, Cordelia steps out into the hallway, and closes the door to her first apartment for the last time.

-

Shelby and Matt are only able to help out for long enough to move boxes, not to unpack, so once the last round of boxes is brought inside from the truck, they say their goodbyes. To Cordelia’s surprise, Zoe not only allows Matt to ruffle her hair in farewell, but also hugs Shelby before they leave.

Once the couple disappears out the door, the two sisters find themselves standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by boxes and disassembled furniture, all of which is just waiting to be set up.

They start with things they’ll need first. There’s a box of essentials set aside, like all their toiletries and a few pairs of clothes, just to make sure they have everything they’ll need for the first couple of days. Soaps and shampoos go into the bathroom, and clothes get placed out of the way in their respective bedrooms.

From there, it’s furniture. A couple of new things that’ve been ordered got set up earlier in the week, like Zoe’s bed and the new dining room table. Cordelia gets a jump start on putting her bed back together, with assistance from her sister, and they work backwards from there. By the time afternoon is starting to edge towards evening, they’ve got places to sleep, eat, and relax all set up.

The one thing Cordelia really does not feel like unpacking right away is the kitchen, so they opt for take-out instead. The move has put them  _ just  _ outside the delivery range for a few of her favorite places, but no matter where they moved, there’s always one option that never goes away: pizza.

Cordelia actually has to go front door of the building to pick up the order, but they’re only on the third floor anyway, so she takes the stairs on the way down and the elevator back up, once she’s got two pizzas held secure in her arms. The two of them curl up on the couch to eat, and Cordelia’s impressed to watch her sister eat a solid four and a half slices of cheese pizza like it’s nothing to her. There’s no cable or TV set up yet, so they watch Netflix on the blonde’s laptop until Zoe’s eyes start to droop, the girl sinking into the arm of the couch with a yawn. In the end, Cordelia has to nudge the girl off to her room, but once Zoe remembers that she has her own bed once again, doesn’t have to share, she’s more than willing to go to sleep.

Cordelia isn’t complaining, either, because for the first time in more than a month, she’s able to curl up in her own bed with a glass of wine and a book, knowing that she isn’t going to wake up cold and blanket less in the morning, or that she won’t get kicked in the side at night.

Even surrounded by boxes full of things she still has to deal with, even though it’s her first night in an unfamiliar space, Cordelia gets some of the best sleep of her life that night.

-

They moved in on Saturday, but Cordelia meets her neighbors on Sunday.

Well, just one neighbor. There’s still a couple things left in her car, so after breakfast, she heads down to bring them up. It’s not too much, just a few items here and there, so she stacks them over top of each other and carries them inside.

It’s just her luck that one of the smaller boxes tumbles off the top and onto the ground when she’s trying to press the call button for the elevator. Before she can grab it, another figure comes up behind her and scoops it up.

“Need some help?”

Cordelia turns her head to see a woman standing there, holding the package she’s just dropped. The woman has long, curly blonde hair, with a friendly sort of smile and a shawl wrapped around her. Her voice has a distinct lilt to it, a cajun accent that isn’t uncommon in some of the nearby areas. Cordelia’s just about insist that she’s alright when the elevator dings, and the doors in front of them slide open. No hesitation, the strange woman just walks inside, still carrying the box.

“What floor are you?” She asks. Cordelia blinks.

“Third.”

“Oh, me too,” she says, reaching out to press the button, before she stops, turning back to study Cordelia. “Wait, are you the one who just moved into 316?”

Cordelia blanks, because it takes her a second to remember that she  _ is  _ the one who just moved into 316, but she nods. “Yeah, that would be me. And my sister.”

The woman grins again, wider this time. “Oh- hi,” she greets. “I’m Misty, I live in 314, it’s right next door.”

“Oh,” Cordelia replies. “Have you lived here long?”

Misty shakes her head. “Not really,” she answers. “My nephew and I moved here a few months or so ago.”

The number screen near the ceiling of the elevator ticks over from two to three, and as it does, the doors open with a ding. With Misty half a step ahead of her, they start off down the hall.

“Your nephew?” Cordelia repeats.

The other woman nods. “Kyle,” she supplies. “He’s eight.”

Cordelia hums. “My sister’s eight,” she adds, and Misty glances over at her with a smile.

“We should get them together sometime,” she suggests. “S’always nice to have friends you live close to. Be nice for them to have friends in the building”

“Yeah, it would be,” Cordelia agrees. “Although, fair warning, Zoe’s pretty quiet. She’s kind of shy.”

“So’s Kyle,” Misty replies. “Well, he is now, at least. Was always a really happy kid, but since his mom died…”

Cordelia raises an eyebrow. “His mom died?”

Confusion painted across her face, Misty nods, back stiffening. “A few months back or so, in a car accident,” she confirms. “Why, is that weird or somethin’?”

“No, it’s just, uh- Zoe and I’s mom died, a little over a month ago,” she explains. “That’s why she lives with me.”

“Oh,” the other woman murmurs, and a sort of tension drains out of her shoulders, as if she’d been preparing for a fight. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sorry for yours.”

“Well, Kyle’s loss,” Misty corrects. “I was his daddy’s sister, not his mom’s. She and I weren’t really close, not since Jimmy died, at least.”

She comes to a standstill, and after a moment, Cordelia realizes that they’re standing outside her apartment. She’d actually managed to miss it until they were right upon it. Misty, however, had been paying attention, and now she glances back and forth between the door and the stack of boxes the shorter woman is carrying.

“Do you need help openin’ that?” She asks.

Cordelia wants to say no, almost as if she’s embarrassed, but if she knows there isn’t really a safe way to open it without putting down everything she’s carrying, and to do so would contradict telling her neighbor that she didn’t need help. Almost sheepish, she nods instead.

“If you could, that would be great,” she replies. “It’s already unlocked.”

Misty reaches out and wraps her fingers around the knob, turning it with a soft click before nudging it open. Cordelia thanks her, and the other woman hesitates for a moment before gently placing the box in her hands at the top of Cordelia’s stack.

“We should set up some time for Zoe and Kyle to hang out,” Misty repeats, as a parting thought. “Anyway, it was nice to meet you…?”

She trails off, leaving a very deliberate pause, and Cordelia realizes that despite Misty offering her own name, she never returned the favor. “Cordelia,” she says, filling in the blank left behind. “Cordelia Goode.”

“Well, Cordelia,” Misty replies, as she moves towards her own door a few feet away and places her key in the lock. “I’m sure all be seeing you.”

“I’m sure you will,” Cordelia replies, because oddly, she is. She doesn’t know why, but she is.

The last thing she sees before Misty disappears into her apartment is the grin that curls the other girl’s lips.

-

Like the day before, Sunday is also dedicated to their recent move, but instead of spending the day packing, they do the opposite. While most of their basic essentials and needs were taken out on Saturday, there are still plenty of important things to be tackled, and considering that they have school and work the following day, Sunday is prime time to get most of it done.

Zoe spends most of her energy in her own room, sticking toys in shelves and clothes in dressers, but Cordelia starts in the kitchen: stacking cups in the cabinets, finding home for silverware in drawers, and pulling out pots and pans from boxes. There’s a lot of dishware to be put away, and part of setting up a kitchen means organizing it, too, so Cordelia takes her time in order to create the most efficient and understandable system for where things go. It’s a little bit of a pain to work it out, but she knows it’ll make her life easier in the long run, so she takes the time to set her kitchen up the way she likes it best, even if it means rearranging things several times until she’s satisfied. 

From there, she starts on the living room. The TV isn’t set up all the way, so she gets a jump start on that, hooking it up and testing it to make sure it works before moving on. Most of the furniture is set up and already in place, but there is a half assembled bookshelf in the corner, so she finishes putting that together as well, shoving the boxes of books over there to be put away at a later time. 

Her own bedroom is next, but she doesn’t spend too much time there, only stopping to deal with hanging up and putting away some clothes before she catches a glimpse of the time. Her watch is telling her that the day is starting to grow later, and as if it were cued, her stomach starts to growl, hunger welling up behind it.

Considering that for the past week, take-out has become frequent to a nearly alarming degree, Cordelia decides to cook. She’s still a little worn out from the move the day before, as well as the couple of things she’s done today, so it isn’t a very complicated meal, but nevertheless, it’s good. Besides, what kid has ever complained about spaghetti and meatballs?

Zoe turns out to be in quite a chatty mood that night, so they skip the Netflix in favor of conversation. It’s odd, Cordelia thinks, that while some people would find a second grader’s ramblings to be a bit taxing, she relishes them. After the slump Zoe’s been since their mother passed, it’s comforting to see that light dancing in her eyes, the way that she can excited enough about what she’s discussing that she forgets to chew the food in her mouth. And sure, while the talking-while-she’s-eating part is gross, it’s also incredibly normal, typical for a kid of her age. It sparks something almost like relief in Cordelia’s chest to see.

At some point during the evening, Cordelia cuts in to switch the topic. “How do you feel about riding the bus to school tomorrow?” She asks. It’s something she herself has been a little nervous about, the fact that someone else will be picking Zoe up from school, and dropping her off on Mondays and Wednesdays. It isn’t like the bus stop is far away, considering that the apartment building itself is an actual stop on the route, but it’s still a little nerve-wracking to place her sister into another person’s hands like that.

Zoe shrugs. “Okay, I guess,” she replies. “A lot of the other kids do it. I’m not scared.”

“But you’re not upset, either?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she denies. “I still like it when you drop me off at school, but I’m okay with the bus, too.”

Cordelia hums. “You know, the neighbor next door has a nephew your age,” she says. “Maybe he rides the bus, too. His name is Kyle.”

“Kyle who’s mom died?”

Cordelia’s brow furrows. “Is that what you call him?”

“That’s what everybody calls him,” she replies, before she seems to draw in on herself. “And me too, sometimes.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Some of the kids call me Zoe who’s mom died,” she explains. “Like they do with Kyle. They look at us the same way.”

“How do they look at you?”

Zoe gives another shrug. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Just different.”

It gives Cordelia pause and, unsure of what to say, she simply raises the arm closest to Zoe. Apparently, that’s enough, because Zoe sets aside her nearly empty bowl in favor of crawling into the space of her sister’s side, head tucked into her ribs.

“They’re not trying to be mean,” the girl tells her. “But it hurts sometimes. It makes me sad.”

“It makes you miss mom?”

Zoe nods. “Yeah,” she replies. “But it also- it also makes me feel weird. Like, everybody else gets to be something, like Luke who’s mom makes cupcakes, or Madison who’s popular, but why do I have to be Zoe who’s mom died?”

She sighs, and Cordelia rubs small circles into the girl’s shoulder. “Have you told them that you don’t like it?” She asks.

“No,” Zoe admits, shaking her head. “But I still wish they didn’t.”

“Maybe you should say something,” Cordelia suggests.

The brunette shrugs. “Maybe,” she mumbles. “But I don’t really wanna talk about it anymore. Can we just lay here?”

Cordelia makes a noise of agreement, setting aside her empty dish, and when she leans back to settle against the arm of the couch, Zoe follows, settling on her side into the space between her sister and the back of the couch. It’s not the most comfortable for the older of the two, but she says nothing.

After a while, Zoe’s eyelids start to flutter, like she’s growing tired. Cordelia’s just about to nudge her back to reality, encourage her to bed for some actual sleeping, when there’s a knocking on the door. While it isn’t exactly late out, only around seven in the evening or so, it’s still a little late for normal visitors. As gentle as she can, she peels her sister off of her before standing and moving to get the door.

She doesn’t think to check the peephole before she opens it, a bad habit she’s had since she first moved away from home, so when it swings wide to reveal two men dressed in the navy of police uniforms, she’s caught off guard.

“Ms. Goode,” Officer Heirloom greets, and although his voice is pleasant, he can’t manage a smile. “May we come in?”


	5. the second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways, deadass almost forgot this chapter.

There’s a second where Cordelia’s brain starts processing before she registers the officer’s request. Having two police officers show up on her doorstep at seven at night is not what she expected, so she can be forgiven for the few moments that tick by before she realizes what he’s said.

“Um, yes, come in,” she replies, pulling the door a little wider. Both officers step inside, and she closes the apartment entrance a little wider. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, I’ve been looking into your mother’s case, and we were wondering if we would be able to ask you and your sister a few questions,” Officer Heirloom explains, before gesturing towards the other man. “This is my partner, Officer Hahn.”

The aforementioned cop offers Cordelia his hand to shake, and she takes it. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, but in all honesty, she has trouble believing that, given their circumstances.

She almost forgets Zoe’s on the couch until she hears the thud of small feet hitting the floor. When she turns, she finds her sister glancing back and forth between the two detectives before her wide brown eyes land on her.

“Delia?” 

Cordelia’s brain stalls for a second before it manages to catch up with the current situation. “Hey, these are two of the detectives on mom’s case,” she tells the girl, gesturing her over. Zoe pads over, but the almost nervous look on her face doesn’t disappear, even as she tucks herself into Cordelia’s side. The blonde rests a hand on her sister’s shoulder as she turns back to the cops.

“Would you like to take a seat?” She offers.

“Sure,” Officer Heirloom replies, and she gestures to the table. “Thank you.”

The four of them, Cordelia nudging Zoe along with her, take a seat at the dining room table. Zoe looks as thrown off as Cordelia feels, but the blonde does her best to remain neutral.

“You said you’d like to ask us a few questions?”

Officer Heirloom clears his throat. “Well, we’d just like to go back over some things with the two of you,” he explains. “This isn’t to cause alarm or anything, but we just like to check back in to go back over some of the details, ask a couple new questions.”

There’s something odd about the way he says it, and the fact that when he does, it feels more like he’s talking to Zoe then he is to her. Something about the whole thing is starting to feel somewhat odd, to be honest.

“Okay,” Cordelia says. “Go ahead.”

Officer Hahn sits a little straighter in his seat. “Well, in cases like these, even if everything appears normal, we just like to get a run down on people who might have been spending time with your mother lately,” he tells them. “Not necessarily to make them suspects, but because they also might have important information that you don’t.”

He sits forward a little, turning his attention on Zoe. His face and tone are friendly, but she still shifts a little under his gaze.

“Zoe,” he starts. “Had you noticed anybody spending a lot of time at the house lately? More than usual.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think so,” she says. “Nobody ever comes over except Spalding and Moira and Ivy.”

“What about somebody else?” He asks. “Somebody who didn’t work there?”

“Nobody else comes over, really,” she tells him. “Sometimes her friend Marie or her friend Delphine come over, but that was a while ago. Her friends didn’t really come over a lot, but sometimes she went out to have dinner with them and stuff.”

“Was there anybody whoever came over that didn’t seem like a friend?” Officer Heirloom asks.

“Like, a boyfriend?”

“Well, that,” he says. “Or anybody who your mother didn’t seem to like. Was there anybody she yelled at, or anybody who yelled at her?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered. “Sometimes, she argues with people on the phone, though.”

“Do you know who?”

“No.”

“Can you think of anybody else she might not have liked?” Officer Hahn questions. “Or anybody who didn’t like her? Maybe not somebody who came over, but somebody who she talked about? Was there anybody like that?”

“Like how Mommy called the president a dried up bag of skin?” She asks. Officer Heirloom coughs, maybe to hide a chuckle, and Officer Hahn’s lip quirks up for just a second before his neutral expression returns.

“Not exactly,” he tells her. “Somebody who she might have known personally. Somebody she spent time with.”

Zoe shakes her head. “No.”

“Had your mother been acting differently lately?” The other detective asks. “Had she maybe been nervous, or scared sometimes? Were you maybe seeing her less often?”

Something seems to click in Zoe’s eyes when he says that. “Kind of” she tells him. “For a while, she would leave a lot and wouldn’t tell us where she was going, but then Mommy and I started spending a lot of time together. We went out for dinner a lot, and before the house burned down, she took me out of school early on Friday, and we spent the whole weekend together.”

Officer Heirloom blinks, like that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “Was this something that happened a lot?” He asks.

“No,” she replies. “Mommy and I spent time together, but she was busy too, sometimes. But we spent the  _ whole  _ weekend together. We went to the butterfly garden, and the zoo, and the park, too.”

The detective hums, and nods to the man beside him, who starts to jot something down in a small notebook. “Is there anything else you might want to tell us?” Officer Heirloom questions. “Anything else that might be important?”

“No,” Zoe answers, shaking her head again.

Officer Hahn smiles at her anyway, warm and friendly as he slips his notepad back into the pocket of his uniform shirt. “Thank you very much, Zoe,” he tells her. “You were very helpful today.”

Cordelia reaches out to rub a hand over her sister’s shoulder, and Officer Heirloom turns to the blonde. “Ms. Goode, if we could speak to you alone, for a moment?”

She nods, turning to the girl beside her. “You can head off to bed, Zo,” Cordelia says. Zoe looks up at her like she doesn’t want to go, like she’s going to protest, but when she sees the expression on her sister’s face, she disappears down the hallway, the door to her bedroom closing behind her with the softest of clicks.

After she’s gone, Cordelia turns her attention back to the officers. “She’s gone now,” she tells them. “You can whatever it is you’ve been avoiding.”

Officer Hahn shifts in his seat before clearing his throat. “We found evidence of accelerants being used,” he explains. “Gasoline, for one, maybe others.”

“So you’re saying…?”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Officer Heirloom finishes. “Somebody set the fire.”

_ Somebody set the fire. _

The air falls out of Cordelia’s lungs, not in a sigh, but in something more pained. Her head falls forward, one hand coming up to her forehead. The two men give her silence as she stops to process that, and it takes her a solid thirty seconds before she looks back up.

“You’re saying somebody killed my mom?” She asks. Neither one of them replies, gives her a yes, but she can see it on their faces. They’re here because somebody set the fire, somebody  _ killed her mother,  _ and they need a list of suspects.

“Do you have any suspects?” She asks. “Any?”

“Well, so far, the only people we’ve really been given cause to look into is the house staff,” Officer Heirloom replies. “But the cook and the maid were both spending time with their families since they had the day off, and the butler was at home in his apartment, security footage from the lobby confirms that he never left. All their alibis have them cleared, unless any of them got someone else to start the fire for them.”

“So you think that it’s somebody else?”

“We think so,” Officer Hahn confirms. “And we know that your mother was rather wealthy, and wasn’t always the most well-liked woman around, and both of those things could possibly cause motive. We don’t mean to upset you, of course, but right now, you’re in the best possible situation to have some information.”

“My mother and I weren’t very close,” she tells them. “I don’t know anything about the people in her life, what she was doing lately. Most of the time I spent with her was motivated by me wanting to see Zoe.”

“I know it may seem to you like you don’t know anything helpful, but just because it seems minor to you, doesn’t mean it isn’t worth checking out,” he explains. “Is there anybody you know of who had a grudge against your mother, or vice versa? Anyone at all?”

“Well, not necessarily a grudge, but those ‘friends’ Zoe talked about,” Cordelia says. “Marie Laveau and Delphine LaLaurie? I wouldn’t necessarily call them my mother’s friends, really. I never really understood what was up with them, but they weren't always the most pleasant to each other. The three of them were always bickering and arguing, and even if they both got along with my mother, Marie and Delphine all but hated each other.”

“Do you know why?”

“Not really,” she replies. “I want to say it’s something to do with Marie’s boyfriend, but I wouldn’t quote me on that.”

“Do you think any of them could have done it?” Hahn asks, but she shakes her head.

“I have no idea.”

“What do you know about them?” Officer Heirloom questions.

“I don’t really know much about Marie Laveau,” she admits. “But Delphine is my friend Pauline’s mother, and she’s… my mother and I had our issues, and she could be controlling, but Delphine made her look like one of the most laid-back women on the planet. She had to know where Pauline was at every second of the day, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. Once, she grounded Pauline for six months because she was dating a black guy, and she used to scare basically every boy away because she didn’t want her daughters seeing anybody.”

“And could you give us any way to contact them?”

Cordelia has no way for them to contact Marie Laveau, but she does rattle off Delphine’s address, watching Officer Hahn write it down. Once he’s finished, he sets his pen down and turns back to her.

“What about what your sister said,” he asks. “That she spent a lot of time with your mother lately. Have you?”

Cordelia goes to shake her head, but then it hits her. “Actually, yeah,” she replies. “I mean, I always tried not to spend too much time with my mother, because sometimes it would turn into arguments, or she’d make like, these pointed comments. And if we did spend any time together, Zoe was usually there, too, so I could see her. But before she died, we went out to dinner, like, three times. Zoe only came once.”

“And what did you talk about?” Officer Heirloom asks. “Did she talk about anything weird, did she seem scared?”

“She was… pleasant,” she says. “She was calm, more than usual. And we didn’t fight about anything, at all. She just wanted to know how my life was going lately. It was really… normal, I guess, but normal has never really been the norm when it came to my mother.”

“Did this seem odd to you at the time?”

“Maybe a little?” She replies, brows furrowing together. “I just thought maybe it was because I was older, or because she was getting tired of all the fighting, I don’t know.”

“Ms. Goode, do you have any enemies?”

The topic change is so sudden that Cordelia blanks out for a second, before indignation flares in her chest. “Do I have any enemies?”

“Well, we’re not saying it’s the case, but we’re trying to get a good look at the bigger picture.” Officer Hahn explains. “Is there anyone who might have hurt someone else, like your mother, in order to hurt you?”

“I don’t-”

“It could be anybody who’s angry with you,” he insists. “I know it seems like it’s far fetched, but anger can cause people to lash out in ways that are unexpected. Is there anybody at all you can think of?”

“I- my ex-fiance, maybe?” She suggests. “We broke up months ago, I kicked him out- and he didn’t really take it well? He kept showing up at my door, he kept calling me, so I got him banned from my building and I changed my number.”

“Okay, this ex-fiance of yours,” Officer Heirloom starts, while his partner starts to write in his notebook again. “What’s his name?”

“Hank Foxx.”

“And would you consider him particularly violent?” He asks. “Is there anything about him that might suggest he’s prone to lashing out?”

“I- not that I know of,” She replies. “We broke up because he was cheating on me, not because of anything like that.”

“So he never hit you?”

“No.”

“How would you describe him?” The detective questions. “What’s he like?”

“He’s… he’s very charming,” she answers. “And witty. But he’s spoiled, he doesn’t like not getting what he wants. After we broke up, he refused to leave me alone until I changed my number.”

Officer Heirloom hums as Hahn continues to write. There’s a long moment of silence, and Cordelia shifts in her seat.

“Do you really think it could have been Hank?”

“I’m not saying we do, but from what you’ve said, it sounds like it’s worth checking out,” Officer Heirloom responds. “Since you’ve blocked him out from every way he could contact you, it’s possible that he feels like he’s going unseen, and chose to make a big move you wouldn’t be able to ignore, so he can feel like you’ve noticed him.”

She rubs a hand over her face with a sign. “Jesus.”

“We really don’t mean to upset you, ma’am,” Office Hahn assures her. “But we’re trying to do everything we can to figure this out. What we want more than anything is to put away whoever did this, to make them responsible.”

“I understand,” Cordelia says. “It’s just a lot to think about.”

“We are still incredibly sorry,” Officer Heirloom insists. “Both for your loss and everything else that seems to be following it, too.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

There’s a few more questions from there, but Cordelia answers them all in somewhat of a daze. The more she thinks about it, the harder it is to focus. It was one thing to think that her mother had been killed in an accident, but it was something else to believe that somebody had intentionally ended her life.

“Do you think my sister and I are in danger?” She asks, once their questions are coming to an end.

Officer Hahn clears his throat. “We don’t think so,” he replies. “As you haven’t gotten any strange messages, and there’s been no threat of danger made against you, it’s highly unlikely that you or your sister will be harmed in anyway.”

“But is it still possible?”

“In the theoretical, yes,” Officer Heirloom replies. “But if we were worried at all, we’d be setting you up with a police detail, at the very least.”

He seems a lot more convinced than she feels, but she makes no protest, and when they make their goodbyes, she doesn’t stop them. The moment they walk out of the door, though, she feels open and exposed, vunerable. Trying to swallow it down, she heads off to her sister’s room to check on her.

Zoe’s already changed and in bed with the lights off by the time Cordelia walks in, and when she hears the door open, her head snaps up. As the woman walks over to the bed and takes a seat on the edge, the younger of the two speaks up.

“Do they think somebody hurt Mommy?” Zoe asks. Her brown eyes are wide as she stares up at her sister, and Cordelia takes a deep breath before speaking.

“No, honey,” she lies. “They just have to ask questions like that, because it’s their job. Because if somebody had hurt Mommy, they have to ask us stuff like that so they can find out.”

“So nobody did it?”

Cordelia reaches down to brush the hair from her sister’s face. “No,” she lies again. “It was still an accident, Zo, okay? You don’t have to worry about it.”

Zoe slides a little deeper into her covers. “So everything’s okay?”

“Everything’s okay,” the blonde replies. “But I know you’re tired, so you need to get some sleep, okay? You’ve got school in the morning.”

“Okay,” Zoe murmurs. Cordelia’s lips turn up in a soft smile as she smooths a hand over her sister’s head before taking her leave She pauses in the doorway, though, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Good night, Zo,” she whispers.

“G’night, Delia,” comes the reply. “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” Cordelia says, closing the door behind her as she steps out of the room. It clicks shut, and she sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. Normally, the idea of lying to her sister would make her unhappy, but given the circumstances, there isn’t much of a choice about it.

Lying or not, there’s still a bigger issue at hand.

Their  _ mother  _ was  _ murdered. _

How the hell is she supposed to deal with that?

-

(That night, Cordelia orders an entire apartment worth of security cameras to be delivered overnight, complete with a set of instructions for easy installation.

She doesn’t want to admit it, not to her sister or herself or even the cops, but for the first time, thinking of her mother’s death doesn’t make her sad, or angry, or confused.

It makes her scared.)


	6. gate and garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways i'm dedicated this chapter to tiff ( haveagoodeday ) because she gave me myrtle's metaphor and has been correcting my typos i love her :')

Despite the bombshell that was dropped on her the night before, Cordelia still goes about her Monday as planned. She drops Zoe off at the bus stop, waits until her sister is boarded and off to school before she heads into work.

She thinks about what the cops have told her the whole way there. It’s just something she can’t get out of her mind. As much as she had fought with her mother, as awful as the woman could have been, it was her mother, Zoe’s mother. She’d loved the woman, and the thought that somebody had gone out of their way to kill her was almost like a punch to the gut. And, on top of that, the idea that it might have been Hank, that he might have been doing it for revenge on her?

It’s all a little overwhelming.

It’s distracting for her day at work, too. Yes, she’s starting to realize that she doesn’t care much for the actual work she’s doing, but it is still her job, and she takes that seriously. On top of that, her boss has been incredibly kind and understanding throughout this entire ordeal, and she’s incredibly grateful. It’d be rather poor of her to show that gratitude by slacking off.

But yet, she just can’t get it out of her mind. She spends the first two hours of her work day in a daze, nearly running right into another member of staff before ducking out of the way at the last second. She has to ask Myrtle to repeat herself more than once, and it gets to the point that one of her coworkers, a lovely woman named Liz, stops to ask her if she’s alright.

It doesn’t take too long after that for Myrtle to call her into her office, offering her a seat in one of the cushy chairs on the other side of the redhead’s desk. As Cordelia sits, so does her boss.

“Cordelia,” Myrtle greets. There’s a drawl in the way the woman says her name, but she’s gotten used to it, almost fond of the pronunciation. “Whatever is going on with you today? You’re rather distracted, darling.”

“It’s nothing,” Cordelia replies, almost tacking a ma’am on before she catches herself. “Just some… personal stuff.”

A long moment of silence passes between them, and Myrtle raises an eyebrow, waiting for further details. Knowing she’s caught, Cordelia sighs.

“The cops came by my place last night,” she explains. “The fire wasn’t an accident, somebody set it on purpose.”

She doesn’t often see her boss taken aback, but the news clearly leaves Myrtle shocked. “Dear, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes.

“Oh, it’s not your fault,” Cordelia replies, waving a hand as she plasters a smile over her face. She tries to go for causal, but it’s forced, and probably looks as such.

Myrtle reclines in her chair just a little, elbows perched on the armrests. “Take the rest of the day.”

Cordelia all but blanches. “That’s not really necessary, ma’am,” she replies, the formality slipping off her tongue before she can stop it. “I’m fine, really.”

“You’re more distracted than a cat in a room full of feather dancers, dear,” Myrtle counters. “Besides, you leave early today anyway. Take a few hours and go home, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Myrtle insists. “Go home, and I’ll see you at your best tomorrow, dear.”

She tries to protest once more, but Myrtle is brushing her out of the door before she can even finish her sentence, so she relents with a sigh, leaving the office to grab her stuff. With her files gathered and her work bag over her arm, she makes her way out to the car and sets off for her apartment. There’s still a good chunk of time before Zoe’s bus arrives, so she can knock a bit more unpacking out of the way, maybe get some books on a shelf or finish putting all her clothes away.

What she doesn’t expect, however, is to run into the woman from yesterday. Just as Cordelia is stepping out of the elevator, the doors to the stairs open, and Misty emerges. It takes them a moment to notice each other, but when they do, a smile stretches across Misty’s face.

“Cordelia,” she greets, in an upbeat tone, her accent still as present as it had been the day before. “It’s nice to see ya again.”

At the other woman’s enthusiasm, she finds her own lips turning up at the corners. “I could say the same to you,” she replies, and as they both walk down the hallway to their apartments, they fall into step beside each other.

“Those are nice flowers,” Cordelia remarks.

Misty brightens. “Thanks,” she replies. “They’re peonies. I run a flower shop in the Lower Garden district.”

“You own a flower shop?”

“It belonged to my parents,” the woman explains. “Family business and all. S’called Day Floristry.”

“The place on Magazine street?” Cordelia asks.

“That’s the one!”

“I’ve driven past there, though I’ve never been inside,” Cordelia admits. “The displays are always so colorful, they’re really quite gorgeous.”

Misty beams at that, a grin that stretches her entire face. “Thanks!” She all but chirps. “One of my cashier girls, Nan, and I set them up ourselves.”

Cordelia raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yup,” Misty replies, as they come to a stop outside of their apartments. There’s a pause, and then:

“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” Misty offers.

Cordelia thinks about turning her down, considering she’s just met the woman the day before. But there’s something about her that’s charming, an innocent sort of alluring, and Cordelia can’t deny that she’s drawn to the woman. So instead-

“I’d love to.”

Cordelia returns the smile that Misty gives her, and when the other woman pushes open her door and steps through it, Cordelia follows after her.

The layout of the apartment inside is a mirror image to hers, right down to the windows on the wall and the island in the kitchen. The furniture, however, and the overall vibe, are completely different. For starters, like Cordelia’s own place, there were several plants to be found around, filling in empty spaces in corners or on bookshelves. They also found residence on the coffee table, and through the glass to the balcony, she could see an array of various greenery, all basking in the sunlight.

The entire place just had a light sort of feel. A lot of the furniture was made of wood in pale colors, some of which was painted white, and the sofa and living room chairs had warm, neutral cushions. Overall, the apartment’s inviting, and from the moment Cordelia steps over the threshold, it almost felt like she’d been welcomed inside by the room itself.

Misty only hums as pulls off her sandals before stepping further inside, depositing the flowers she’s carrying into a vase on the kitchen island that appears to have been waiting, already filled with water. The pale pink of the peonies only seem to blend into the room as if they, too, belonged inside of it.

“You can just leave your shoes by the door,” Misty says, waving a hand towards the cluster of footwear there, a mix of slip-ons and boots and a young child’s sneakers. “You have a preference in tea flavors? I got green, plain black, earl grey, English breakfast, a few herbals…”

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” Cordelia replies. From where she’s toeing off her heels, she watches as the other woman fills a tea kettle with water from the sink before placing it on the stove, turning the burner on with an audible click. Fire springs to the surface and licks against the metal, but Misty pays no mind as she reaches up into the cabinets to pull down first a box of tea, and then two mugs. There’s an ease and grace to the way she does it, like it’s a daily ritual she could do with her eyes closed and a hand tied behind her back.

Cordelia hovers for the door for a few seconds before padding towards the kitchen, hesitating by the island. Misty glances at her over her shoulder with a friendly smile.

“So, how’re you likin’ the building so far?” Misty asks, turning around to face the other woman. Now that Cordelia’s taken off her heels, the other woman has a good two inches on her or so, and even if it isn’t all that much, she does seem tall.

“Well, it’s only been two days, but so far, it seems pretty great,” Cordelia replies. “The unit is amazing, and I have to say, it’s nice to have my own room back again.”

“Your own room?”

“My, um, my mother died when our family home burned down,” she explains, becoming a little somber. “And since the house was gone, Zoe came to live with me, but I only had a one bedroom apartment, so we were sharing my bed until we moved in here.”

Both of Misty’s eyebrows raise. “How long ago did you say your mother died again?”

“A little more than five weeks ago,” she answers. “It took about three weeks for me to realize that my apartment wasn’t big enough, another week to find this place, and one more to move in.”

“It only took you two weeks to find and move into an apartment?”

“Well, I’ll admit, I do come from family money,” she explains. “And although I try to avoid living off of it, sometimes it can be helpful in situations like these. The apartment just wasn’t big enough, and Zoe was eager to get out of there and into somewhere else. Considering how hard everything’s been on her, I wanted to get it done as soon as possible.”

“I can imagine,” Misty says. She opens her mouth to speak again, but behind her, the tea kettle starts to whistle, a shrill noise that cuts through the conversation. Without missing a beat, Misty turns on her heels and plucks it off the stove, causing the sound to come to a stop as she begins to pour hot water into the two mugs, both of which already have a tea bag inside and waiting.

“Milk or sugar?” She asks, reaching over to turn off the stove as she sets the teapot down on a cool burner.  Cordelia shakes her head.

“No thank you,” she says, and Misty replies by placing one of the mugs in front of her, steam still rising off the top of it. When she wraps a hand around it, she can feel the heat coming off of it, and even though she isn’t cold, she pulls it closer to her on instinct. For a moment, she just watches the color from the tea bag seeping into the water, before she turns back to Misty.

“So, how long have you and your nephew been living here?”

The taller of the two stops to think for a moment. “About… three or four months?” She answers. “Hasn’t been that long.”

“Does he go to Hanahan, too? Second grade?”

Misty nods. “Ms. Weller’s class,” she adds. “Woman’s a god-given saint, I tell ya.”

“That’s Zoe’s class,” Cordelia says, and the other woman seems to perk up. “We were talking last night, she recognized Kyle’s name.”

“Oh yeah?” Misty asks. “What’d she say about him?”

Cordelia shifts, a small frown starting to twist her lips. “She says the kids in the class call them ‘Zoe and Kyle whose moms died’,” she answers. At that, Misty’s brow furrows.

“They what?”   
“Zoe said she hasn’t told them to stop, and I suggested she should,” Cordelia explains. “But she’s definitely a bit shy, so I don’t know if she actually will.”

Misty sighs. “Yeah, so’s Kyle,” she adds. “If he ain’t said something yet, he ain’t gonna.”

“I thought about calling the teacher, but I don’t know,” Cordelia admits. “I don’t want to be like the over involved parent that freaks out about every little thing, I at least want to give Zoe a chance to learn how to fight her own battles, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” the other woman agrees. “S’how I feel with Kyle. But the boy’s just so shy. He used to be so goofy and happy, but lately…”

“Grief does do that to a child,” Cordelia points out. “Losing his mother must’ve had a big effect on him.”

Misty shakes her head. “No, he was gettin’ quiet before that, too,” she replies. “It got worse after his mom died, but… it was startin’ before that. I’m almost afraid to think ‘bout why.”

“Do you think something happened to him?”

“I think someone did somethin’ to him,” she confesses. “I mean, don’t speak ill of the dead and all, but… there was always somethin’ weird about his mother, y’know? Every since Jimmy died… I thought it was grief at first but… somethin’ wasn’t right with her.”

“You’re afraid she hit him?”

Misty shakes her head. “I’m afraid she might have done somethin’ else.”

That gives Cordelia pause, and she takes a sip of her tea in order to give herself a moment to think.

“Have you thought about therapy?” She suggest, doing her best to sound delicate. After all, there are plenty of differing opinions on getting professional help, and she doesn’t want to upset the other woman. Instead of being offended, Misty nods.

“He saw someone for a while after his mom died,” she explained. “Maybe for a month or two, but… they said he was fine. Said he was just sad, that he’d get over it.”

“And then they just sent him on his way?” Cordelia replies, raising an eyebrow. Misty shrugs.

“Told me he was fine,” she repeats. “They insisted. I didn’t think so, but it was clear they weren’t gonna do anythin’ else for him. I asked him if he wanted to go somewhere else, but he said no. Didn’t like it.”

There’s a pause, and Misty’s eyes go wide. “I’m sorry,” she says, suddenly. “I invited you in for some tea and polite conversation, but here I am dumpin’ our whole lives on you. My mama’d be appalled at my manners.”

The other woman almost laughs, but she holds it in. “Well, in your defense, we are two people caught in oddly similar situations,” Cordelia points out. “It’s hard to ignore it.”

“Kinda funny, though,” Misty replies. “That we ended up as neighbors.”

“It is,” Cordelia agrees. At some point, she’s found herself drifting further into the kitchen, leaning against one of the countertops, but Misty urges her into a barstool at the kitchen island. Once they’re both seated, she speaks again.

“Well, since you’ve heard me go on about Kyle, what about Zoe?” Misty asks. “Is she coping well?”

Cordelia traces her finger around the rim of her mug as she speaks. “She’s doing… alright,” she answers. “As time goes on, she’s started to get less quiet, has started to brighten up. It’s not all better, but… it’s getting there.”

“Have you considered therapy for Zoe?”

It’s not meant to be unkind, just curious. If it were coming from someone else, it might come off as offensive, but considering both the nature of their conversation, and the look in Misty’s eyes, she only shrugs.

“I’ve thought about it,” she admits. “Between our mom dying, and the house burning down, and the moving, there’s been so much change that I know she’s shaken up, but does she really need to see somebody? Or is all this going to pass?”

“I mean, it ain’t gonna hurt her,” Misty points. “Right?”

“It shouldn't,” Cordelia agrees. “It is therapy, after all.”

“You might as well try an’ see, it did Kyle some good,” Misty suggests. “At least, I think it did.”

A moment passes before the shorter blonde shifts forward, putting most of her weight against the counter as she leans forward. “Is it weird for you?” She asks. “To find yourself suddenly, like, parenting?”

The other woman takes a sip of her tea. “It certainly ain’t what I had planned for myself, takin’ care of Kyle,” she replies. “Not that I don’t love him, or that I wanna give him away, but… I didn’t think he was ever gonna be mine.”

Cordelia straightens. “Exactly,” she almost exclaims. “I mean, I always knew I wanted kids but I never- never expected to just be handed one out of nowhere, let alone my sister.”

“No time to prepare,” Misty adds. “They kinda just… hand ‘em to ya, and that’s it.”

“That’s it,” Cordelia echoes. Quiet falls between them for a few moments, until Misty seems to straighten in her seat.

“Okay, enough about all this,” she decides. “Not that this ain’t been a fascinating conversation, or I ain’t enjoyin’ myself, but I haven’t had a conversation with another adult in forever, not unless it’s been about Kyle. Somethin’ else, not about kid’s shows and elementary school.”

“Alright then,” Cordelia replies, a smile curling her lips. “Adult conversation. Hit me.”

Misty grins. “You like Fleetwood Mac?”

-

The topic shifts, but the conversation doesn’t end by any means. If anything, they only talk more, first about music, but then about plants, and books, and their jobs. Cordelia shares some of the more eccentric stories of her boss, and Misty replies in kind with little stories she’s gotten from customers buying flowers. They talk through several cups of tea, the once-full kettle starting to verge towards empty, until one of them glances up at the clock, only to notice how much time has gone by.

“The kids should be getting home from school by now,” Misty remarks. 

Cordelia hums. “I should probably be home when Zoe gets in, she’s never ridden the bus before,” she says, and they both look at the window as if the kids appear through the force of her words. When they don’t, both women relax.

Misty gets up to rinse out the mugs, and Cordelia insists on helping, having never really grown out of the polite instincts she developed from spending so much time with her house staff as a child. It’s not a chore that needs two people, considering it takes a minute most for a single person on their own, but she’s never been very good at sitting back and watching somebody else work without contributing.

However, by the time they’re finishing, yellow flashes outside the glass, and Cordelia turns just in time to catch the school bus pulling up to the front of the building. When she steps closer to the window, she catches sight of her sister stepping off alongside a boy with floppy blond hair.

They say their goodbyes as Cordelia grabs her work bag and slips on her heels, the taller blonde making her swear to come over again soon. It’s a promise that Cordelia doesn’t mind making, and feels oddly eager to keep.

The two of them almost get drawn into conversation again before she finally slips out of the apartment. Almost right as she does, the elevator doors at the end of the hall slide open. There’s a handful of kids inside, but only two of them slip out. One of whom is her sister, while the other is the blond boy, and considering he’s the only one besides Zoe who got off on this floor, he must be Kyle. Despite having spent a good portion of her afternoon talking about him with Misty, Cordelia’s never actually seen him before.

The family resemblance isn’t hard to spot. Even if Misty’s only his aunt, not his mother, they have the same hair, the same nose, and even the same chin. Traits must run strong in their family, because if Cordelia would have had to pick Misty’s nephew out of a line-up, Kyle’s a dead-ringer for what she’d have chosen.

Even though Zoe and Kyle are both quiet, it’s clear that they’re walking together, coming down to the hallway side by side in silence. When Zoe notices Cordelia waiting outside their apartment, though, she starts to pick up her pace, passing Kyle in order to make it to her sister’s side faster.

Zoe hesitates for a second before wrapping her arms around Cordelia, allowing the woman to run a hand through her hair. “Hi,” she greets, face still pressed into her sister’s side.

“Hi,” Cordelia repeats. “How was school?”

“It was good,” Zoe answers. “I have homework.”

“And that’s good?”

“No, but I have it.”

She chuckles a little, glancing back up. Kyle stands at his front door, watching them with an almost curious expression. As if also remembering he’s there, Zoe pulls away from Cordelia’s embrace to wave at him.

“Bye, Kyle,” she says.

Kyle offers the smallest of smiles in return “Bye Zoe.”

With that, he disappears into his apartment while Cordelia unlocks theirs. The lights are all still off from the morning, and Zoe doesn’t wait for her sister before reaching to turn on the lights and making her way further into the room. 

(Even if they’ve only just moved in a few days prior, Cordelia can see the change in how Zoe acts in the space. In her old apartment, Zoe hesitated before going anywhere, like she was unsure of every step. Here, though, she walks right inside without waiting, and even if she still seems to pause before sitting on the couch, and even though she’s accidentally ended up in Cordelia’s bedroom instead of the bathroom twice now, she’s clearly more comfortable in the space.

No matter how much Cordelia may miss her old place, she decides, it’s worth it.)

With her shoes still on her feet, likely because she’s forgotten about them, Zoe shoves her backpack up onto the dining room table and climbs into one of the chairs as she rifles through it, most likely to find her homework. Cordelia leaves her to it for the moment, choosing instead to head into her room and change into something more comfortable than her work clothes before anything else.

Once she comes back out a few minutes later, dressed in a tee and sweatpants, she finds Zoe already started on her assignments, legs swinging under her seat. 

“How was riding the bus?” Cordelia asks, sliding in the chair across from her sister.

Zoe shrugs. “It was weird,” she answers, not even bothering to glance up from scribbling a few numbers on what appears to be a page full of math.

“Good weird? Or bad weird?”

“Neither,” the girl replies. “Just weird. I sat with Kyle.”

“Did you?”

“Mhmm,” Zoe hums, still staring down at her homework. “We’re friends now.”

“What prompted that?” Cordelia questions. At that, her sister actually looks up.

“I told him that I thought it wasn’t fair that they called him Kyle whose mom died,” she explains. “And he told me he was sorry they called me Zoe whose mom died, too. So we decided to become friends.”

“That’s all it takes, huh?” Cordelia asks, and Zoe gives her a confused look.

“Isn’t that how everyone makes friends?”

“Well, not exactly,” Cordelia says. “It’s a little more complicated than that when you’re older.”

Zoe only shrugs again. “That’s silly, friendship shouldn’t be hard,” she declares, before turning her attention back to her work. Cordelia bites back a chuckle before standing up from the table and walking into the kitchen.

“Do you have any ideas for dinner?”

“Pizza.”

With furrowed brows, she glances back at the girl over her shoulder. “We had pizza on Saturday,” she points out. “And last Wednesday.”

“I like pizza,” Zoe retorts.

Cordelia laughs. “We’re not ordering out again,” she says. “We had take-out plenty of times last week, I’m cooking. We’ve got pasta, grilled cheese and soup, I could even make pancakes…”

Zoe’s head snaps up at that. “You can make pancakes?” She repeats. “Those are a breakfast food.”

“Well, they don’t have to be,” Cordelia replies. “You can make them any time you want.”

“Can we have pancakes?”

When she turns, her sister is looking at her with wide brown eyes. There’s excitement in her face, and when she doesn’t get the answer she wants right away, her smile curves into a pleading expression, bottom lip poking out. It reminds Cordelia, as Zoe is doing more and more often, of the time before her mother died, when the girl smiled easy and open and often.

So Cordelia makes pancakes, and Zoe cheers, and even if the table is a sticky mess afterwards that the blonde has to clean up, her sister is full and smiling and happy.

She still counts that as a win.

-

(Reality comes back that night when the security systems she ordered are delivered. The box is big, and Zoe asks what it is, Cordelia does her best to brush it off without seeming suspicious.

That night, once her sister is in bed, the blonde gets to work, placing cameras in all of the main rooms of the house, making sure that every window is covered, as well as the front door and the one that leads out onto the balcony. It takes a good chunk of her time, somewhere between an hour or two, but by the time she’s done, the knot of anxiety in her chest has started to loosen. The entire system is wired to her phone, and the detection of anybody entering the apartment will send a notification to her phone to let her know.

And maybe it isn’t the most high-tech thing on the market right now, and maybe it’s not going to keep out the dangers of the outside world, but-

She sleeps easier that night, phone only inches away on her nightstand, and that’s a start.)


	7. bad loser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all i'm so sorry this is late i worked the dinner shift and forgot to update before i left i'm so sorry

Despite the past few days, the move and the conversation with the police, the days continue on. They still have school, and work, and the rest of their lives going on around them.

At home, Zoe seems to be adjusting, slowly reverting back to the tender, smiling kid she was before her mother died. At school, however, her teacher says she’s seeing otherwise; Zoe continues to pull away from her classmates, quiet and withdrawn. The only difference is that now, she at least spends time with Kyle, and apparently the two have gone from nearly strangers to friends within a matter of days. They eat lunch together at the end of the table, and they sit together at recess, sometimes talking, sometimes silent.

(“I’m glad she’s made one friend,” Mrs. Weller says. “And considering what they’ve both been through, I think they’re really good for each other. I’m just concerned that neither of them are coming out of their shells around anyone else.”)

Cordelia, still thinking about her conversation with Misty, broaches the topic of therapy with her sister one night over dinner. Zoe doesn’t quite exactly understand what therapy is, but when Cordelia explains it, she shifts in her seat.

“So, I have to go talk to somebody about Mommy dying?” She asks.

“Not… exactly,” Cordelia replies. “And not if you don’t want to. It’s just that sometimes, it helps to talk to people like therapists, because they know how to make you feel better about sad things.”

“Why can’t I talk to you?”

“I- well, you can always  _ talk  _ to me,” the blonde explains. “But therapists are better at helping people with things like this. Like how some people know more about math, or some people know more about history, some people know more about helping other people.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, Cordelia waiting for a response while her sister only pushes food around her plate in silence. Finally, though, Zoe speaks.

“Are you gonna make me?” She asks.

“No, I’m not going to make you,” Cordelia replies. “But I do want you to try.”

They discuss it a little more, and in the end, Zoe agrees to at least give it a go once, but doesn’t want to go back if she doesn’t like it. Those are terms Cordelia can get on board with, so she agrees. When she runs into Misty in the elevator later in the week, she finds that the other woman has also convinced her nephew to go to a few appointments, and considering Kyle and Zoe’s new friendship, Cordelia hopes that her sister will be more willing and open if she knows Kyle is doing it, too. Almost like positive peer pressure.

Zoe and Kyle aren’t the only ones spending time together, however. Ever since they’ve moved in, Cordelia finds herself seeing more of Misty almost right away. They end up having tea again on Wednesday, only two days after the first time. They also seem to have a habit of running into each other in elevators, leading to short snippets of conversation that still manage to leave Cordelia feeling a little bit lighter even after a minute or two.

All of the stress doesn’t quite go away, and the fear of her mother’s possible killer doesn’t disappear, but they do settle, and even if they linger, it becomes manageable. Soon, the new place starts to feel like a home, and their routine starts to feel normal, almost welcome. It’s not necessarily what Cordelia expected her life would be like at this point, but she’s getting used to it.

(Her job, though, that was grating on her. As the time had passed, whatever passion she’d had for it waned, until she was left going back to a job she didn’t care for, day after day. It was still a job, though, and she was determined to keep one, no matter how much money her mother had left behind.)

Sure, things may not be perfect, but they’re okay. They’ve got food on the table, a roof over their heads, and money in the bank. Even if Zoe still has days where she all but refuses to talk, and Cordelia catches herself in a rather melancholy mood for no reason, they’re doing alright.

And sometimes, when they’re driving home and Cordelia glances up to catch her sister smiling in the rear-view mirror, she has a feeling things will get better, too.

-

A little more than a week after the cops have come by her new apartment, Hank shows up.

Of course, in the back of her mind, Cordelia had thought that it might be a possibility, but that didn’t mean she was expecting it. So when there’s a knock at the door on Monday maybe fifteen minutes after she’s gotten home, she thinks it might be Misty, or maybe another one of her neighbors.

Instead, she finds her ex-fiance waiting on the other side.

There are no pleasantries exchanged, no beating around the bush. “You gave my name to the cops in a  _ murder investigation?”  _ He demands.

Cordelia’s hand tenses around the doorknob, gripping it between her fingers as if it will bring a sense of safety. “How do you know where I live?”

Hank scoffs. “Please, you moved to another apartment in the same city, you didn’t drop off the face of the planet,” he spits. “Is that really what you’re concerned about here?”

“Considering that you just showed up here out of nowhere and I had to have you banned from my last building, yes,” she replies.

“It was  _ our  _ building before it was yours,” he bites. “You kicked me out of  _ our  _ home!”

“You slept with somebody else!”

“Okay, where do you get off?” He growls. “First, you’re shoving me out of the door without even giving me a chance to defend myself, and then you’re ignoring me, and now you’re going up to cops and accusing me of murdering your mother? I mean, really? What, they asked you who you thought did it, and you blamed me, just like that?”

“They didn’t ask if I thought you did it,” she protests. “They asked if there was anybody who was- was upset with me, was angry, would want me to be unhappy.”

“And you said me? Jesus, Cordelia, I didn’t want that, I loved you!”

“Love isn’t driving to some shitty motel in the next town over and screwing other women, Hank!” Cordelia argues. “Love isn’t pounding on my door at one in the morning, or two months of drunk phone calls when all I wanted was to be left alone.”

“I was trying to say I was sorry-”

“That’s a pretty awful way of doing it-”

“You wouldn’t talk to me-”

“Because you were cheating on me! You asked me to marry you, and then turned around and started seeing some girl on the side!”

“And I was sorry, okay?” He huffs. “I told you it would never happen again, I promised you, and you didn’t listen. You didn’t listen to me!”

“How was I supposed to trust you, Hank?” She counters. “Even if you were sorry, how was I supposed to be able to trust you anymore?”

“You were supposed to trust me like you had for years! For all those years we had together that you threw away when you threw me out!”

“I threw them away?” She repeats, incredulous. “You’re the one who threw them away when you started sleeping around with other women behind my back while you told me you were working. That was on you, Hank!”

_ “Jesus, _ Cordelia, what do you _ want _ from me?”

She can’t help but wince when he shouts, flinching back. He notices and, face falling, reaches out to touch her, but she recoils from it like it’s still ten months ago, like she’s still holding the empty condom wrapper in her hands, like it’s still fresh. She wants him to never touch her again, she wants him to stop being so close to her, she wants him out of her building, out of her life.

“I want you to go away,” she tells him.

She almost expects him to stumble away from her, almost expects something like tears, something like the drunken pity he used to give her, but instead he sets into a tense line, folding his arms across his chest.

“No,” he refuses. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to name me as a suspect in a murder investigation and then refuse to see me. I’m tired of being ignored, Cordelia, you’re going to speak to me-”

“Actually, I think you’re gonna leave.”

At the voice, Cordelia glances over to see Misty standing outside of her apartment, chin tipped up and her jaw clenched. Like Hank, her arms are crossed, and even though Cordelia’s used to smiling, tea-drinking, laughing Misty, something about her is now undeniably intimidating.

Hank’s face splits with confusion, before hardening back into anger. “Who are you?” He demands.

“Someone with the common sense not to start shoutin’ at someone else’s apartment,” she fires back. “And someone who knows how to dial 9-1-1.”

His face reddens, but when he opens his mouth to speak, Misty holds up her phone, the meaning behind it clear. If possible, the color in his face goes even darker, spreading to his neck and ears as he glares, but when Misty only returns the expression, unfaltering.

Nostrils flaring, Hank glances back and forth between the two woman before he takes a step back, away from them both and down the hallway. Even with the little bit of distance between them, Cordelia can breathe a little easier, and she wants him the rest of the way out,  _ now. _

“Keep accusing me of things I haven’t done, and I’ll have you sued for slander,” he threatens, before turning on his heels and stalking away. She holds her breath in her chest as she watches him leave, and she doesn’t let it go until the elevator doors have slid shut behind him.

Soft footsteps come up behind her, before a gentle hand rests on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Forcing a grim sort of smile, Cordelia turns back to Misty and nods, because isn’t she? She hasn’t seen Hank in a few months shy of a year, has come to terms with what happened, has started to heal. Having her ex show up on her doorstep is a little jarring, sure, but it shouldn’t be enough to rattle her.

Despite what she tells herself, though, it is. Even though her body doesn’t tremble, she feels shaky, a little unsteady. While she didn’t really have a plan for tonight besides making chicken for dinner, she definitely had not expected Hank to show up. 

Misty can clearly see some of this, because she raises an eyebrow. “You sure?” She asks. “Because, not to be rude or anythin’, but you look pretty rattled.”

Cordelia tries again to insist that she’s okay, but it isn’t very successful, because she only ends up being shuffled into Misty’s apartment for a mug of tea anyway, no matter the protesting. At this rate, considering that she’s lived here for barely a week and a half, and this is already her third time in Misty’s apartment, she could start calling it a frequent occurrence.

“That an ex of yours?” Misty asks, already moving to fill the tea kettle as the other woman takes a set at the kitchen island.

Cordelia nods. “Hank,” she adds. “We broke up maybe… ten months ago, or so.”

“Was it serious?”

“We were engaged.”

Misty hums. “Why’d you break up?”

“I’m sure you heard,” Cordelia replies, with a bitter chuckle. “He was cheating on me. Lying about work conferences so he could meet up with other girls in motels.”

“Scumbag,” Misty remarks.

“You can say that again,” Cordelia mumbles.

The other woman looks up as she’s turning the knob on her stove. “He’s a scumbag,” she repeats.

The shorter of the two laughs. “Yeah, he is,” she agrees. “He just happens to be the scumbag I dated for seven years.”

“Some men ain’t worth shit,” Misty says, stepping away from the stove and leaning against the kitchen countertop.

“You got a bad ex-boyfriend out there, too?” Cordelia asks, but the other woman shakes her head.

“Nah,” she replies. “Men ain’t really my thing.”

( _ Oh. _ )

“He ever show up like this before?” Misty questions, switching the topic back over to Hank, and Cordelia nods with a grimace.

“After he moved out of our old apartment, he used to show up all the time and bang on the door,” she explains. “Eventually, I had him banned from the building, so he resorted to calling all the time. Since I changed my number, though, I haven’t heard from him.”

“But now?”

“The cops wanted to gather a list of suspects,” she adds. “And they thought it might be somebody who was out to hurt me, and the only person who I could think of that would want me to be unhappy was him. Ever since we broke up, it was ‘you owe me’ and ‘you need me’ and ‘you’ll never be satisfied without me’. He was relentless.”

“Do you think he did it?”

Cordelia sighs. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I didn’t think so, but then the cops said that if he had done it, it might have been a way he would have felt seen. That because I was ignoring him, he was going to do something to feel like I noticed him, whether or not I knew it was  _ him.  _ When they put it like that…”

“It sounds like a real good explanation,” Misty finishes.

“It really does,” Cordelia agrees, dropping her head into her hands. She peeks up a moment later, though, to look at Misty.

“Sorry to be dropping this all on you,” she apologizes, but the other woman brushes it off with a wave of her hand.

“You sat through me talkin’ your ear off about Kyle a week ago, remember?” She replies. “Besides, I’m the one who forced you here, anyway. You ain’t done nothing wrong.”

“Are you this nice to every neighbor with an awful ex-boyfriend?”

Misty grins, a hint of teeth flashing through her lips. “Only the pretty ones,” she says, and Cordelia raises an eyebrow, trying to push down the red that tries to rush into her cheeks.

They fall into a silence that’s only broken by the whistle of the tea kettle. Cordelia watches in silence as Misty fills the waiting mugs with water, and thanks her when one is placed in front of her.

“Do ya actually like Earl Grey, or are ya just tryin’ to be easy?” Misty asks, in reference to the tea bag that is currently floating in Cordelia’s cup. Cordelia’s lips curl at the corners.

“I like it,” she answers. “I just don’t usually drink it.”

“And what do you drink instead?”

“I usually drink an apricot flavored black tea, or a specific type of jasmine,” she explains. “But really, I’ll drink any kind of tea, it doesn’t matter which.”

“If you say so,” Misty replies, dunking her bag of tea, but there’s the hint of a grin teasing the corner her mouth. Cordelia laughs and, as she tugs at her own tea bag, wonders why her chest feels light.

(They talk about everything and nothing and by the time the bus rolls up with Zoe and Kyle inside, she’s almost forgotten about Hank completely.)

-

Cordelia almost forgets about the idea of therapy completely until Wednesday.

Between Hank ambushing her, and the time she’s been spending at Misty’s apartment, it’s slipped to the back of her mind, almost forgotten among everything else. Zoe, however, has managed to remember it, and she brings it up on the ride to school.

_ “Kyle said that his aunt’s making him go to therapy, too,”  _ she’d said.  _ “So I guess it’s not that weird.” _

She waits until she gets off that day to start looking around at different places to call and check out, knowing that it was going to take a good chunk of time. While Cordelia wasn’t always particular, there was some things she was more than willing to be picky about, and healthcare for her sister was one of them. Considering the circumstances, everything that Zoe had been through lately, she was willing to put in not only the money, but also the research, for finding the right place.

She spends over an hour on the internet to start, making a list of places that seem reputable and then looking, scanning their websites and reading reviews. Slowly but surely, she starts to cross off the places she doesn’t like as much, until she’s got only a few left.

The insurance is where she gets stumped, however. Zoe should fall under hers, now, as far as she knows, but she isn’t quite certain. And while they have the money to afford therapy without insurance, it’s still costly, and she’d rather not pay for it out of pocket. So, just to be safe, Cordelia digs out the box of documents that surround her mother’s death in order to find the woman’s insurance plans.

That’s where the tone of her day starts to shift, dramatically so.

She can’t find the insurance in the end, but she ends up skimming through the files in the box anyway, just reading over them. There’s a kind of sadness that comes with looking through it, but it’s almost addictive in the way that nostalgia can be, and she finds herself unable to stop rifling through the box.

Everything in the box is something she’s seen before, considering she packed it up, but they aren’t necessarily files that she’s studied. A lot of these papers are the things David, the lawyer, took point on. He’d done the heavy lifting on several tasks when it came to her mother’s death, and considering that Cordelia had been out of her depth, she’d been more than grateful for the help.

She ends up getting caught on her mother’s will. While the thing itself is typed, it still reads like words her mother might have spoken. As was the usual for Fiona, everything she wants is laid out in clear phrasing, with no room for arguments or loopholes. It’s nothing less than she’d expect from her mother.

On the last page is the signature line, followed by the date. Ever since Cordelia can remember, Fiona’s had the same signature, sharp lines on the F and a slanted curve on the G. With the hint of a smile, she traces her fingers over the letters, the long-dried ink refusing to smudge under her finger.

When her eyes catch on the date, though, her eyebrows knit together, because-

The date just happens to be two weeks before her mother died.

Cordelia pauses at that, blinking. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, sure, but it’s also one hell of coincidence, isn’t it?

At first, she sets it aside and tries not to think about it, but she can’t help it. She burns with curiosity, creating an itch that starts in her chest and spreads out to her fingers, just begging to be scratched. After a short internal debate, she gives in, reaching back into the box to pull out the stack of files inside.

Upon further investigation, it turns out that the will wasn’t the only thing updated or signed around that time. The life insurance policy, the papers that outline her as Zoe’s designated guardian, even the living will and power of attorney were all updated within two or three days of the will. Anything that might have been important in the case of her mother’s death was all written or changed within the same week, only half a month before her mother passed. In fact, it’s almost like-

_ Like she knew she was going to die. _

The realization slams into Cordelia the same was she imagines a bullet would, and she falls back into the nearest chair with a strangled sort of noise. Did her mother-?

The idea of it makes her sick, but as she thinks about it, things start to click into place. Fiona pulling Zoe out of school and spending the whole day with her. The three times she got dinner with her mother before the woman died. All the paperwork being updated. It all makes sense.

But, Cordelia thinks, there’s no way she can be sure, is there? It’s not like if she looks further into the box, the explanation will be waiting, and she certainly can’t ask her mother.

When her eyes fall onto the signature on the will, though, the one just underneath her mother’s, she gets an idea of who she can ask. She scrambles to find her phone, and once she does, she dials the only person she can think of. It rings twice before the line is picked up, and she speaks before they can even say anything.

“David? How soon can you meet me?”


	8. over my head.

Cordelia gets to the building for David’s firm shortly after four.

Her sister is with Misty, who agreed to watch her when Cordelia knocked on her door. She feels a little bit bad about dropping Zoe on her with such little notice, and she also feels bad about leaving the girl in the care of somebody she’s only met fleetingly, but Zoe seemed fine with spending time at Kyle’s, and Misty assured her it was no issue.

The receptionist, a kind-faced woman who’s all too familiar with seeing Cordelia’s face in the past two months, waves her up towards the offices without a second glance, merely offering the blonde a smile before she turns back to her computer. For her part, Cordelia tries to return it, but it shakes a little. Nevertheless, she heads further inside, taking the stairs up to the second floor and making her way down the hall to the room where David works.

When she arrives, the man is already inside and seated at his desk, waiting. She freezes in the entrance to his office, but when he looks up and sees her there, he waves her inside.

“Cordelia,” he greets, gesturing towards a chair. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you, but you sounded rather urgent on the phone. Take a seat, tell me what’s going on.”

Cordelia closes the door behind her as she enters, pulling it shut with a soft click. Once that’s done, she sits down across from him, sliding her bag off her shoulder and letting it hit the ground before she reaches inside to pull out the folder she’s brought. Inside is a stack of papers, the same one she’d looked through only an hour or so ago.

“I’m here to ask you what you might know,” she says, sliding the files over to him. “About these.”

He picks up the documents and skims through them, before looking back up at her with confusion. “Yes, these are several of the contracts and statements your mother signed,” he explains. “But we went over all of these already, some of them months ago. Is there an issue?”

“The dates,” she clarifies. “Are all at the same time.”

His face changes. Not really one of shock, but more like recognition, resignation, and he places the papers back down in front of her. “Yes, well, many clients tend to have a few moments in their lives when they update all of their important end-of-life documents at once. It’s not uncommon to knock out things like these within a week or so, if given the opportunity.”

“But that week,” Cordelia replies. “Just so happens to be right before she died.”

“It’s unfortunate, but-”

“ _ But,  _ I doubt it’s a coincidence,” she interrupts. “Nothing was ever a coincidence with my mother. Certainly not something like this, either.”

He sighs. “Cordelia, if you're asking me to give you answers, I don’t know what to tell you,” he says. “Attorney-client privilege is still in effect.”

“She’s _ dead.” _

“That doesn’t change anything,” he replies. “In fact, your mother was very clear about the fact that she wanted it carried on after her death as well. Legally, my hands are tied here.”

“David, please. It’s my mother.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before he lets out another sigh. “Admittedly, yes, I do know something, maybe more than you do,” he explains. “But your mother made her wishes very clear to me, I’m not to tell you.”

“Can you tell me something?” Cordelia questions. “Anything.”

He considers it for a moment. “What do you want to know?”

( _ Why did my mother die? Did she kill herself? What would possible motivate her to do that? How am I supposed to deal with this?) _

“Did you know she was going to die?”

He blinks. “That’s a very broad question, Cordelia.”

“Did you know she was going to die two weeks after you signed those papers?” She amends.

“No,” he answers. “I did not.”

“But you knew she would die.”

“I can’t answer-”

“So you knew,” Cordelia says, and he falls silent. Even if he doesn’t speak, though, she knows what it means. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

“Cordelia-”

“ _ Why _ didn’t you do anything?” She repeats.

“There are some situations where there isn’t anything to be done,” he explains. “This was one of them.”

“How could there not have been anything to be done?” She bites out. “You could have stopped whoever, you could have done something-”

“If I had known that she was going to die in that fire, believe me Cordelia, I would have done something,” he assures her. “But I didn’t know.”

“Did you do it?”

He blanches, at for the first time, she sees something like indignation pass over his face. “Cordelia, of course not!”

“Then who did?” She demands. “If you knew, and she knew, but nobody did anything about it, who did it?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he tells her. It’s genuinely apologetic, but in the moment, that’s not what she cares about. What she cares about is knowing the truth, knowing who the blame-

“Did she do it?”

It falls off her lips before she can stop it. Her voice has dropped back to normal volume, quiet even. It’s a thought that had occurred to her on the drive here, almost made her slam the breaks in the middle of an intersection in surprise.

(It made sense. The day she had died, all the house staff had been dismissed. Fiona had to have known that whatever happened, it would happen on that day. But if she did, why didn’t she stop it? Why didn’t she leave the house? Why didn’t she ask for help?

Was it the plan all along?)

“I’m sorry?”

“Did my mother start the fire?” She asks. “Did she kill herself?”

David pauses, and a long stretch of silence fills the air between them. She realizes, in the quiet, that she’s leaned forward in her seat, both of her hands gripping the armrests of the chair. Her fingers dig into the fabric like she’s holding onto it for safety.

Finally, after a moment, he speaks. “Cordelia, what do you think?”

With the question turned on her, she freezes. What does she think? Does she admit to him, admit out loud, that she’s afraid her mother killed herself? Sure, her mother wasn’t always the nicest woman, or the greatest person, but she was fierce, powerful. Does she admit that she’s afraid that one of the strongest people she knew burned down their home in the name of suicide?

“I don’t know what to think,” she tells him. It’s meant to come out firm, but instead, it sounds watery, as if she’s pleading him to tell her what to think so she doesn’t have to piece it together, doesn’t have to be the one to figure it out. Maybe that is what she’s asking, but either way, he doesn’t give it to her, shaking his head again instead.

“Cordelia, I am sorry, I swear,” he says. “But I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you, myself.”

“So that’s it, then?” She questions. “I’m just going to spend the rest of my life wondering whether or not my mother killed herself, or was murdered? I’m never going to get answers?”

David says nothing, and with a noise almost like a scoff, she stands, snatching the files back up from off his desk and slides them into her bag. She’s halfway to the door, however, when he speaks.

“Have you read the will?”

She turns back around to look at him. “Yes, I’ve read the will,” she replies. “We read it together, remember?”

“We read several of the sections, yes,” he corrects. “The ones that dictated her estate, and custody of Zoe, but we didn’t read the whole thing together. Did you ever look back over it?”

She sighs. “No.”

“Look at it again,” he tells her. “In a section near the back. There’s a security deposit box. Your mother had it set up so that three months after your desk, you would be given the key to it. Until then, nobody else would be allowed to open it.”

She blanks. “I- and you’re telling me this  _ now?” _

“Technically, I’m not supposed to be telling you at all,” he points out. “If you had stumbled onto it by yourself, that’d been one thing, but you were supposed to be able either discover it by yourself, or find out when you were given the key.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he explains. “That if you’re looking for answers, they’re most likely going to be in that box.”

“Oh.”

Unsure of what to say, they both go quiet, but after a long pause, he clears his throat. “Regardless,” he says. “I hope you have a good day, Cordelia.”

“I- you too, David,” she replies, before she turns on her heels and pushes out the door, heels clicking like computer keys the whole way, almost loud enough to cover the sound of her heartbeat starting to thump in her ears.

-

(She makes it all the way to the car before she pulls open her bag and starts tearing through it until she gets her hands on the will. The thing is long, several sections, each of which is multiple paragraphs, so she skips to the last few pages and scans the document.

Sure enough, David isn't lying. Clearly laid out are the terms for a security deposit box in her mother’s name, which Cordelia is supposed to receive three months from the day her mother dies. Or died, really, but are semantics really what to focus on here?

No, because what she is focusing on is that fact that, if her math is correct, she’ll be getting the box in a month. One month, and then whatever answers this box may hold are hers.

She doesn’t know what’s scarier: that the box will prove her right, or it’ll have no answers for her at all.)

-

(On the drive home, she thinks about the last time she had dinner with her mother. The  _ last  _ last time, that is.

They’d met at one of the nicer restaurants New Orleans had offer, just a few blocks from the French Quarter. Fiona had already been there when Cordelia arrived, waiting with an expensive bottle of wine on the table.

There had been no arguments, no pointed comments. When her mother smiled, it was genuine, and when Cordelia spoke, she listened. It had been normal. It had been  _ nice. _

It might have been one of the best memories they’d shared.

It just also happened to be the last.)

-

She pulls into the parking lot of her apartment building somewhere between five and five thirty, but when she comes to a stop, she freezes before turning off the car. For just a moment, she lets her head fall forward onto the steering wheel of the car. She’d almost hoped the drive would take longer, so she’d have a little more time to collect her thoughts, but now that she’s here, she might as well head in. Even if it’s been a little more than an hour since she left, she still feels bad for leaving Zoe with Misty, especially on such short notice.

Pulling her bag up over her shoulder, she makes her way inside the building and into the elevator, taking it up to the third floor. Most days, she’d take the stairs, but her heels are starting to pinch her toes, and she honestly cannot be bothered in the moment.

She makes her way down the hallway, and when she gets to Misty’s door, she can hear the faint sound of music coming from inside. It takes her a second before she pins the song as one by Fleetwood Mac, a thought that almost makes her smile.

She reaches out to knock on the door, and after a moment, she hears Misty call  _ ‘come in!’ _ . When she turns to knob and steps into the apartment, she is greeted with the sight of Misty, Kyle, and Zoe sitting on a rug in the living room, cards in their hands and scattered around them on the floor. They all look up when she enters.

“Delia,” Zoe greets, practically beaming. “We’re playing Go Fish.”

Cordelia does her best to pull a smile onto her face. “I see,” she says, and Zoe falters a minute before her own grin returns.

_ (She can tell something is wrong.) _

“We’re almost done, you can sit down if you want,” Misty adds, before turning to her nephew. “Kyle, got any fives?”

He hesitates, before passing over a card, and she places it down in front of her with her own before rounding on Zoe. “Got any sevens?”

“Go fish.”

Cordelia takes a seat at the kitchen island and watches as the game goes on. Despite Misty taking his five, Kyle’s got the lion’s share of the cards in front of him, and as the pile of cards in the middle starts to dwindle, it’s clear that he’s in the best position out of all of them. The longer they play, the more he gathers, and within a few minutes of Cordelia’s arrival, he’s taking the last of Zoe’s cards and claiming victory.

Cordelia waits a moment or two, until they’ve gathered up the last of the cards and everything’s cleaned up, before she speaks. “You ready to go, Zoe?” She asks.

Her sister looks up and gives a jerky nod. “Okay then,” Cordelia adds. “Get your stuff.”

The brunette pushes herself up onto her feet and goes to grab her bag off the floor. While she does so, Misty makes her way over, and Cordelia does her best to offer the woman a smile.

“Thank you  _ so _ much for watching her,” she says. “Something came up really last minute.”

“It’s fine,” Misty assures her. “It ain’t any trouble, and the kids had fun.”

Cordelia lets out a little sigh,somewhat relieved, but Misty’s brow furrows. 

“Is something wrong? You were real flustered earlier.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Cordelia replies, brushing the question off with a wave of her hand. “Just had to take care of something, that’s all.”

Misty seems skeptical, but she doesn’t argue the point. “Alright,” she says. “But if you ever need somebody to watch Zoe again, Kyle and I are more than happy.”

She reaches out to place a hand on the other woman’s elbow, and Cordelia almost shivers at the contact. Before she can figure out what  _ that  _ means, Zoe speaks up.

“I’m ready,” her sister calls, and when she glances back over her shoulder, the girl is standing at the door with her backpack on her bag and a sneaker in each hand. Cordelia arches an eyebrow.

“You aren’t going to put your shoes on?”

Zoe shakes her head. “I’m just gonna take them off again at home,” she answers.

Cordelia considers trying to get her to put them on, but it’s a moot point, and more trouble than it’s worth. Instead, she makes her way over and prompts her sister to say her goodbyes before they leave. Zoe thanks Misty and Kyle, waving goodbye to them both before stepping out into the hallway. Cordelia echoes the younger girl before following, closing their door before moving to unlock her own.

They don’t speak much once they’re inside. Zoe takes her bag right to the table like usual and starts on her homework, and any attempts at conversation are short-lived, petering out after they’ve started. It’s as if whatever mood, whatever bad feelings Cordelia has, are stuck in the air around them. Zoe must be able to pick up on it, because she withdraws into herself, and unlike usual, Cordelia finds herself starting to do the same.

After changing out of her work clothes, something the blonde forgot to do before rushing off to David’s office like a woman possessed, she decides to get started on dinner. There’s ham thawing in the fridge and waiting to be cooked for dinner, and considering that it’s already five, she ought to get it done.

‘Getting it done’, however, does not turn out as expected. She’s placing the ham in the oven when Zoe calls her over, needing help on her math homework. Distracted, Cordelia forgets to set the timer for dinner before she takes a seat at the table to assist her sister. And with no alarm, there’s nothing to remind her about the ham while she’s trying to help Zoe, and she gets so wrapped up in it that she forgets about dinner completely, until the faintest scent of smoke starts to fill the room.

The end result is, of course, Cordelia pulling a burnt slab of meat from the oven as she instructs her sister how to wave a towel over the smoke alarm to keep it from going off and forcing the entire building to evacuate.

They don’t need to be  _ those  _ neighbors.

With the ham now sitting on the stove-top, burnt beyond edible, their new plans for dinner become delivery from the chinese place instead.

Once the smell starts to fade, Zoe falls back into her earlier silence, only opening her mouth when Cordelia speaks first. A sort of guilt starts to settle in Cordelia’s chest, and she tries to engage with her sister, but Zoe seems to brush it off, going back to her homework and insisting that she no longer needs help. She doesn’t seem angry, or upset, just… pensive, thoughtful. More than once while Cordelia’s cleaning up, the blonde catches her sister watching her out of the corner of her eye, but she isn’t quite sure what to make of it, so she focuses on taking care of the mess left behind from her failed attempt at cooking.

When the take-out arrives, she pops down to get it before coming back up to the apartment. In the time it takes her to do so, Zoe’s not only put away her homework, but has set the table for dinner, too. It’s a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, and Cordelia actually manages to give the girl a smile, the first real one she’s had since leaving David’s office.

Dinner is doled out between them, lo mein for Zoe and cashew chicken for Cordelia. An order of spring rolls sits in the middle between them, and after a few bites of her meal, the younger of the two reaches out to grab one and nibble at it.

They don’t speak for a good chunk of time. Cordelia focuses on eating to ignore the silence, and Zoe still has that musing look on her face, like she’s thinking about something. After a few minutes, however, the brunette speaks up.

“I love you.”

It comes out of nowhere, and Cordelia blinks, a bite of chicken halfway to her mouth. “Hm?”

“I love you,” Zoe repeats.

“I love you, too,” the blonde replies. “But… is something wrong?”

Zoe shakes her head, dropping her gaze almost like she’s embarrassed. “No,” she answers, dragging her fork through the noodles on her plate. “But you seem sad, and whenever I’m sad, you always tell me you love me. So I thought I should say it to you.”

Cordelia’s thoughts stall, before the smallest of grins starts to curl at her lips. There’s a suspicious warmth behind her eyes, but she shoves that down, because as touched as she is, she’d rather not start crying. Especially because Zoe’s still staring down at her plate like she’s afraid she’s said or done something wrong.

“I- Come here,” Cordelia says, pushing her chair back from the table. Without the need for further prompting, Zoe slides out of her seat and makes her way around the table and into Cordelia’s waiting arms. With the blonde still sitting, it puts them at almost the same height, and Zoe tucks her face into the woman’s collarbone.

“Thank you,” Cordelia whispers, just loud enough to be heard. “I love you, too.”

-

(Some days aren’t great. There are some days when they’re sad. There are some days when they’re angry. Some days, like today, it feels like the whole world is out to spite her.

But despite everything, they’ve still got each other. And even if it’s not what Cordelia imagined, it’s not a bad deal. Not at all.)


	9. world turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a bit late, but merry christmas!

For Zoe’s sake, Cordelia packs away everything from Wednesday and pushes it into the back of her mind, at least while her sister is around. Whether or not it’s true, it’s not something she wants to reach Zoe, not something she wants the girl to have to think about, so she shoves it to the back burner of her mind and focuses on the now.

Monday of the next week finds Cordelia trying to tackle a few things. For one, she’s got to finish getting Zoe into therapy, a task that was interrupted last week by the drama surrounding her mother, but there’s also laundry to be done, and she’s got to make sure Zoe has enough stuff for lunch in the fridge for the rest of the week.

As she’s starting a load of whites in the washer, there’s a noise at her front door. It’s not a knocking, really, but a thumping. Brow furrowed, she looks through the peephole to see Misty on the other side, holding a mug in each hand, filled with what she must assume is tea.

A smile coming to her lips, she opens the door, and as she does, Misty perks up. “You busy?”

“I can be not busy,” Cordelia replies, stepping aside to make room for the other woman to come in. Misty grins as she steps inside, glancing around at the apartment. Despite all the times they’ve had tea, it’s always been at Misty’s place; she’s never been over before.

“You’ve got plants,” Misty remarks, taking notice of the shelf full of greenery along the back wall of the apartment, and the leafy dracaena in the corner. While there’s not nearly as many in Cordelia’s apartment as Misty has, there is a good amount of vegetation scattered around, along with a few floral accents. 

“You’re not the only one who likes to garden,” Cordelia replies, but it comes out teasing, and Misty only chuckles as she sets down the mugs she’s carrying on the kitchen island. Despite their differences in decorating, their apartments do still have the same layout, and she moves as if she’s used to being here, likely out of familiarity with her own place.

“Is something up?” Cordelia asks, and Misty turns, raising an eyebrow.

“Came to ask  _ you  _ that, actually,” she says. Cordelia blinks.

“You did?”

“Well, you were runnin’ around all wide-eyed on Wednesday, so somethin’ had to be goin’ on,” the taller of the two mentions, pushing one of the mugs towards the other blonde. It’s the same one Cordelia’s used the last several times, a mostly-plain white mug with thin, hand-drawn stems of green leaves climbing up the porcelain. After a moment.

“Wanna talk ‘bout it?” Misty continues, and Cordelia hums, taking a sip from the cup. The liquid inside is still warm, but not too hot to drink, so she takes another.

“It’s not a very happy story,” she warns.

“I didn’t come here expecting one.”

“It’s also rather long.”

“And we got almost two hours before the bus gets here,” Misty counters. “What’s goin’ on?”

Her gaze is insistent, and it’s clear that she’s not giving in, so Cordelia sighs before taking a seat in the bar stool beside Misty, and she explains the events of last Wednesday. She lays the entire thing out in front of her like a deck of cards, and by the end, Misty’s looking at her in wide-eyed shock.

“So, that’s it,” Cordelia finishes. “My mother might have killed herself, and apparently I’m supposed to wait, like, three or four weeks to receive this box that’s supposed to give me all the answers.”

“That’s… damn,” Misty says, after a pause.

Cordelia almost snorts, draining her mug of tea. “Just about sums up how I feel.”

When she sets the cup back down, Misty’s hand reaches over to cover her own, fingers squeezing. At the contact, Cordelia feels goosebumps come to her skin, like she’s brushed something cold, but Misty’s touch is warm.

“Don’t know what I can do, but if you ever need anythin’,” she says. “I’m right next door.”

Cordelia smiles, small but genuine, and Misty’s grip falls away. “Thank you,” she replies. “But honestly, right now, Zoe’s my priority. I’m more worried about that right now.”

“Is somethin’ wrong with Zoe?”

Cordelia shakes her head. “No, but there’s been a lot going on lately,” she explains. “And, on top of that, I’ve still got to try and find therapy for her, and day care. She’s going to the SAC program at school, and she hates it there, but I can’t work half days every day of the week, and I don’t want her to be alone in the apartment. But with everything going on, there’s just been no time to find somebody to take care of her after school-”

“I can do it.”

Cordelia comes to a halt, and she blinks a few times before looking at the other woman. “Huh?”

“I can do it,” Misty repeats. “I’m already home every afternoon to take care of Kyle anyway. That way, she wouldn’t be home alone, and it ain’t no skin off my back.”

“Misty, I can’t possibly ask you to do that-”

“You ain’t asking, I’m offerin’,” she points out. “Besides, I… I think Zoe’s real good for Kyle. He’s been talkin’ a lot more, and he seems a lot happier. If me watchin’ Zoe means they’re spending more time together, I ain’t opposed.”

“You’re- you’re serious about this?”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

Cordelia stares at her in silence, unable to form words. Finally, Misty speaks again.

“Look, I really don’t mind,” she assures her. “Besides, you’re helpin’ me, too. Zoe’s Kyle’s only friend, and she’s good for him. What if we just… take it slow? How about I watch her tomorrow after school, and we go from there?”

Cordelia almost wants to say no, just on the principle of it. She felt bad enough leaving Zoe with Misty out of the blue last week, but to do it three days a week seems like too much, even if Misty’s offering. 

But on the other hand, Misty’s right: it would solve the problem. And, on top of that, even if the idea seems weird to her, she knows it would likely go over well with Zoe. The girl was naturally shy, and didn’t always make friends easy, but she’d taken to Kyle. Cordelia knows her sister wouldn’t have a problem with the idea, and if the boy was anything like Zoe, neither would he.

So really, the only one with a problem is her.

“I guess we can try tomorrow,” she relents.

“It’ll go great, I promise,” Misty says, a grin lighting up her face. Something about the smile is what really convinces Cordelia, and even if she doesn’t understand why in the moment, she knows that she would have ended up giving in no matter what.

Considering they’ve both finished their drinks, Cordelia moves to put her own kettle on and skim through her teas. Misty places the decision for her own mug wholly in the other woman’s hands, so she settles on two packets of a fruitier black tea, one with an aroma similar to Earl Grey and a good flavor that she figures Misty will like. 

As they wait for the water to boil, they lapse back into conversation “Did you actually find a place to send Zoe for therapy?” Misty asks, fingers drumming against the countertop.

“I’ve got a list of a few places that seem alright, but I’m not sure about any of them yet,” Cordelia replies. “What about Kyle?”

“Not yet,” Misty admits, shoulders falling a little. “I’m not always real good at the research and stuff, but after how unhappy Kyle was after the last place, I ain’t lookin’ to screw it up again.”

“Hey, people make mistakes,” Cordelia points out. “If you want, I can send you some of the places I’m looking at?”

“You don’t have to-”

“It’s no trouble,” Cordelia assures her. “Really, it isn’t, at all.”

Misty perks up, a half smile crossing her lips. “It’d help,” she admits, some of the tension falling out of her shoulders and relaxing into her seat. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Cordelia replies. “Besides, Zoe’s been a lot more okay with going to therapy since she found Kyle was, too.”

“Same with him,” Misty tells her. “He was all upset at first, but the moment he found out Zoe was gonna do it too, he stopped complain’.”

“Positive peer pressure,” Cordelia jokes, earning a laugh from the other blonde. “For once, it does some good.”

“You got that right,” Misty replies. As her laughter peters out, though, her face takes on a bit more of a serious expression.

“What about you?”

Cordelia blinks, “What about me?”

“How are you?” Misty asks. “I mean, you’re always talkin’ about Zoe, and how she’s handlin’ things, but what about you?”

“I’m alright,” Cordelia replies, maybe too fast. It’s not all a lie, but it isn’t really the truth, either, and it stumbles a little as it falls off her lips. The other woman looks rather unconvinced, raising an eyebrow, and she holds the look until Cordelia sighs.

“Okay, it’s not… the easiest thing,” she admits, with a shrug. “But my mother dying, that was the worst of it. And we’ve already gotten through that, things will get better from here.”

“You don’t sound so sure about it.”

A pause. “Maybe I’m not sure I am.”

“Cordelia, don’t take this the wrong way,” Misty starts. “But have you thought about lookin’ into therapy for yourself?”

The other blonde blinks back at her, and there’s a long moment where she doesn’t speak. The longer the silence stretches, the more Misty starts to shift in her seat, but as she opens her mouth to say something, likely an apology, Cordelia answers.

“You might have a point,” she admits. “But trying to find time for that with everything else that’s already going on sounds insane. Not that I regret taking Zoe in, not in a million years, but it’s… just more time-consuming than I thought it would be. I’m trying to cook dinner most nights, laundry takes twice as long, helping with homework, it’s not that it’s all that difficult, it just…”

“Takes more time than its seems like it should,” Misty finishes, nodding. “I get it.”

“I mean, I’m single parenting now, aren’t I?” Cordelia says. “She’s my sister, not my daughter, but… it’s the same concept now, isn’t it? I kind of always thought I’d be doing this with somebody else, you know? Somebody who loved me. For a long time, I thought that when I did this, I’d be doing with Hank.”

“No offense, but I’m glad you ain’t,” the other woman replies. “Not about doing it alone, but about Hank. He’s a real piece a work.”

“He is that,” Cordelia agrees, lips twisting up. “Sad it took me so long to see it, though.”

“Ain’t they say love is blind?” Misty points out. “Rose-colored glasses and all that?”

“Love shouldn’t be  _ that  _ blind,” Cordelia retorts. “Hank wasn’t an oversight, he was… a colossal miss.”

As if in agreement, the kettle jumps to life on the stove, moving from a gentle whistle to a shrill screech in a few seconds. It doesn’t quiet until the burner has been shut off and it’s being lifted into the air to fill the waiting mugs. Steam rises from the cups as they fill, and Cordelia passes one to Misty, warning her that it takes a little longer to steep than most teas.

There’s a beat of silence, Misty watching color start to seep into the clear water while Cordelia fiddles with the string that connects the pouch of her tea to the cardstock tag. It’s almost like at the mention of Hank, he starts to hang over the room, stifling the conversation.

“You know, I hate going to work sometimes,” Cordelia blurts, cutting through the quiet. It’s something she’s never said, never voiced aloud, but it’s been creeping up on her lately, this nagging feeling of unhappiness. It reminds her of how she used to feel coming home from school knowing her mother was going to be there, the dread of an oncoming argument.

“You don’t like your job?”

“I used to like my job,” Cordelia says. “The people I work with are great, my boss is amazing, it’s just- I get nothing from it anymore. I spend so much time there, but I feel like I’m getting  _ nothing  _ from it.”

“Ain’t you from family money?” Misty asks. “Why don’t you just quit?”

“I could,” the other woman replies. “But I don’t want to live the rest of my life off my mother’s money. I want to earn my own life, my own place. I just- I want to earn it doing something I like. I mean, you like your job, right?”

“I love my shop,” Misty replies. “It was my daddy’s, and my grandma’s, and her uncle’s. It’s been in my family for longer than any of us been alive. I grew up there.”

“I want that,” Cordelia says. “Not necessarily all of that, just- I want to work somewhere that I want to be. I want something I feel good about.”

“What would make you happy?”

Cordelia shakes her head back, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “I don’t know,” she replies. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

“What’d you do in college?”

“Double-majored, in business and finance.”

“And that ain’t what you want?”

“It’s more of what I thought I should do,” she explains. “It was sensible. People never stop needing help with with money, and you’re always employable with a business degree. It was practical.”

“Well, screw practical,” Misty says. “What’d you want to major in? What’d you wanna be when you were little?”

Cordelia brings the mug of tea to her lips and takes a long sip before replying. “Education,” she answers, finally. “I wanted to be a teacher.”

“So what’s stoppin’ you?”

“Well, I majored in business and finance for one-”

“And you can go back to school,” Misty interrupts. “You’ve got the money. What’s stoppin’ you?”

“I have a job-”

“And you can quit while you go back to school.”

Cordelia shakes her head. “School or no school, I still want to work,” she protests. “Having a job is important to me.”

“Okay, so get a new one,” Misty replies. “You can find somethin’ that works better with school. Hell, could even come work at the flower shop.”

She grins, raising an eyebrow, and Cordelia can’t help the way her lips tug up in the corners. It’s endearing, how persistent Misty is on this topic. If it were anybody else, it might be exhausting, but instead of being annoyed, Cordelia finds herself… not empowered, per say, but pushed.

“You’re really set on this, aren’t you?”

“Ain’t you?”

“I wasn’t even thinking about a drastic career change until a few minutes ago!” Cordelia replies, but it’s punctuated with a smile, not bite. 

“Well, you are now,” Misty fires back, in the same teasing tone. “If you want something, Delia, you gotta work towards it. The only thing standin’ in the way is you.”

(She chooses not to comment on the nickname, but she notices it. Notices how it sounds like  _ ‘deal-yuh’  _ coming off the woman’s lips, the ‘i’ dropped out. Notices how Misty doesn’t stammer or pause, as if she didn’t even notice she used it.

Mostly, Cordelia notices that she  _ notices,  _ and that’s what gives her the hint of butterflies in her stomach.)

“So, the plan is for me to quit my job, come work at your flower shop, and go back to college to become a teacher?” Cordelia recaps. “I only graduated three years ago!”

“So you still know how to study, then,” Misty counters. “C’mon, at least think about it before you knock it.”

Cordelia sighs, the sound almost like a laugh. “I’ll think about it,” she concedes.

“You better,” Misty says, but any sort of threat in her tone is outweighed by the fact that she’s nearly beaming. “Besides, if you ever wanted a job at the flower shop with your business degree, you’d have it. Lord knows I could use it.”

“Are you the only running it?”

“Pretty much,” she answers, resting her chin on her hand. “I mean, it’s the family business, but since Daddy died and Mama decided she was too old to run it without him, it’s been me. Jimmy ran it for a while before he died, and my sister’s still in college. Most I’ve got is an Associates degree.”

“I mean, I’m more than happy to help out,” Cordelia offers.

“I don’t wanna put that on your plate,” Misty objects. “You’ve already got so much going on.”

“You’re the one who’s offering to watch my sister three days a week,” the shorter blonde counters. “If you’re helping me out, I’ll help you out.”

“I guess it’s a fair trade,” Misty concedes. “But that means you can’t complain about me watchin’ Zoe.”

“Only if you don’t complain about me helping you out with your shop.”

Misty nods. “Deal,” she agrees, sitting up taller and sticking her hand out across the counter for Cordelia. She takes it, wrapping her fingers around the other woman’s and shaking them. “I’m gonna hold ya to it.”

“I’d hope so,” Cordelia teases as she pulls her hand away, leaning against the kitchen island. “But, if I’m going to be helping out, you might as well tell me more about the flower shop, so I can at least be a little familiar with it beforehand.”

It’s clearly the right topic to get Misty started on, because she launches into it with ease and passion. She goes into detail about every aspect, from the full and part time employees to the process through which she orders, cares for, and sells flowers, most of which come from a nursery in a more rural area of Louisiana where Misty used to work in the summers. It’s clear that she loves her job and her store just from the way she talks about it, bright-eyed and hands waving everywhere.

After twenty minutes or so, however, Cordelia’s phone starts to buzz, interrupting them. Her screen lights up with an alert about the time, reminding her that Zoe will be getting home from school soon. They both glance over to notice it before looking back at each, and Misty clears her throat after a beat of silence.

“I should go before the bus gets here,” she says, climbing to her feet. “Don’t want Kyle walking into an empty apartment.”

“Probably for the best,” Cordelia replies. The mug she’s been using, the one Misty brought over, is still clutched in her grip, but when she moves to hand it to the other woman, she shakes her head.

“Keep it,” Misty insists, placing it on the counter beside them. “Might as well, you’re the one usin’ it more than anybody else.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she says, smile curling her lips. “Besides, next time somebody’s gonna be drinkin’ out of it is the next time you come over, might as well bring it with you then.”

“Deal,” Cordelia agrees, and Misty grins. Before she can say anything else, however, Misty is reaching out to pull her into a hug, casual, as if this happens all the time.

(Maybe for some people, it does. But the last time Cordelia hugged somebody that wasn’t her sister, it was when Shelby helped them move in, and before that was their mother’s funeral. Cordelia, as of late, hasn’t really been drowning in hugs.)

Misty wrapping her in her arms is sudden, but not unwelcome, and after the moment she takes to recover, she returns the embrace. The other woman is just the slightest bit taller than her, but she bends so that her chin hooks over Cordelia’s shoulder.

Just as soon as she moves in, though, she pulls back, arms falling to her sides. “Always good to see you. Think about what I said.”

“I will,” Cordelia replies, and Misty lingers for a moment before she starts to walk towards the exit. As she does, though, an idea springs to Cordelia’s mind, and she’s voicing it before she can stop herself.

“Hey, Misty,” she calls, causing the other woman to pause a few steps from the door and turn. “Do you and Kyle want to come over for dinner tonight?”

Misty’s mouth pull back up into a smile. “That sounds amazin’,” she replies. “What time?”

“Dinner usually ends up being six thirty or so, “ Cordelia answers. “So, maybe six or so?”

“We’ll be here,” Misty says, reaching out to grab the doorknob. “See you soon then, Delia.”

“See you soon,” Cordelia echoes, watching as the other woman steps out into the hallway. 

As the door clicks shut behind Misty, Cordelia reaches up to touch her lips only to realize that they’re stretched into a grin so wide that her teeth show through.

-

(Zoe gets home from school maybe ten minutes later, and when Cordelia tells her that Kyle’s coming over for dinner that night, she beams.

And, of course, when she finds out that she’s spending the afternoon with Kyle the next day, instead of going to SAC, her smile only grows.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i'm going to be going on holiday overseas, and we're at about the mid way point, i'm going to be breaking for about two weeks, so i'll see y'all in chapter nine. happy holidays!


	10. coming your way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways we're back from vacation and returning to our regular update schedule!!!

Misty, and Kyle by extension, become a regular fixation in Cordelia’s life from there.

For one, Zoe’s afternoon at their apartment goes fantastic, to the point that the girl herself is almost begging for it to be a regular thing. From what Cordelia hears, Kyle is asking for the same thing, so she agrees, and Zoe is pulled from SAC to spend those days at the neighbor’s apartment instead.

Tea also becomes a weekly thing. Every Wednesday when Cordelia gets home from work, she changes out of her work clothes before heading over to Misty’s, taking over with her the mug that the other woman gave her, and the two of them spend the afternoon talking. Being around Misty is starting to be something she craves, in a confusing sort of way. It’s quick to becomes something to look forward to, one of the highlights of her week, even if she later can’t remember half the things they talk about. 

The one thing she can’t forget, though, is the talk she had with Misty about her future, about what she really wanted to do with her life. It was one thing to have the idea tucked somewhere into the back of her mind, but Misty had reached into her head and tugged it forward, pulling it into the center of her thoughts. There, she couldn’t ignore it, and now that she was thinking about it, she was starting to want it again. Maybe she’d never really stopped, somewhere inside of her, but she didn’t realize it. Now, she couldn’t not notice it.

Despite her internal struggle, however, she still showed up to work and put in the same amount of effort, determined to work and hold a job no matter the money in her bank account. It was something she had promised herself when she was younger, that she’d never let being rich turn her into somebody else, somebody who didn’t care. Part of why she liked having a normal job was it kept her humble, despite coming from wealth.

It took a little more than two weeks for Myrtle to call her into her office. The woman, of course, was perceptive, and even if Cordelia was still working as hard as she had been before, Myrtle was able to tell that something had changed, summoning the younger woman in for a chat.

When Cordelia takes a seat at one of the spots offered to her, Myrtle leans forward to rest her arms on the surface of the desk. “Cordelia, darling,” she starts. “Whatever has been the matter with you lately?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” the blonde replies, but she shifts in her chair, knowing that the lie will be seen right through.

She’s right, of course. Myrtle’s face doesn’t change, except for the slightest quirk of her lip. “Oh dear, don’t play coy,” she tells her. “You’ve been off for weeks now, anybody could see it. Please, enlighten me.”

Cordelia sighs. “I’ve just had a conversation with a friend lately,” she explains. “It’s caused me to… reconsider how I feel about the path my life has taken. I’m not so sure I’m cut out for this job anymore, if I’m honest.”

“Oh, of course not,” her boss replies. “You’ve never been meant for this line of work, dear.”

Taken aback, Cordelia’s mind stalls in place, but Myrtle continues before she can say anything else. “You’re very good at it, of course, but you weren’t meant for this,” she goes on. “This isn’t the place for you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not every job is a destination, Delia,” Myrtle explains. “Some are merely stepping stones, and for you, this is one. And while I do enjoy working with you, darling, I must admit that I have hoped to see you move on, into something better for you.”

Cordelia pauses to consider her words. “I’m… I’m not quite sure what to say.”

“Well, I’d like to hear a goal for one,” the older woman says. “Surely, you must have some sort of idea for what you want to be doing with yourself, if it isn’t this.”

“A teacher,” Cordelia answers. “When I was younger, I always dreamed of having my own classroom, teaching kids. Lately, I’ve started to realize that I still want that.”

“And what, exactly, is stopping you?”

It’s eerily reminiscent of what Misty said to her, and thinking about it causes her lips to curl up in the corners. “Well, there was several things I thought were stopping me,” she replies. “But somebody told me recently that the only thing standing in my way is me.”

“And why is that?”

“I think I’m a little scared,” she admits. “What if it turns out that this isn’t what I want, and it doesn’t make me happy? What if it isn’t my dream?”

“Then you find a new dream,” Myrtle tells her. It’s the same tone she takes with clients when she has to be firm, and sitting on the other side of it now, Cordelia understands why it’s so effective.

“What if I’m not ready yet?” She asks.

“Well, you have this job until you are,” Myrtle assures her. “But I do hope that it isn’t for long, I’m quite eager to see you move forward. And, between you and me, I’m not much longer for this firm either.”

Cordelia raises an eyebrow at that, but Myrtle only waves her hand as if to say ‘it doesn’t matter’, leaning back in her chair. “Anyways, dear, I am glad to see you’ve recognized the potential you have beyond this place,” she says. “But I would be much more glad to see you use it. Consider this me asking you to take the rest of the day.”

“Myrtle, it’s Thursday, I-”

“ _ You, _ dear, are going to go home and do something for yourself,” the redhead interrupts. “Have a glass of wine, do something with your sister, or that friend you mentioned. Just, for God’s sake, something other than work.”

She considers protesting, but Myrtle’s face is set, and Cordelia knows that no matter what she says, it’ll only end up with her heading home, so she gives in now to spare them both the time, wishing Myrtle a good rest of hey day before excusing herself from the woman’s office to gather her things.

By the time she’s in the car and pulling out of the parking lot, her mood has started to peak, and she grins as she turns the music up on a song she knows so that she can sing along. The weather is starting to grow warmer, so she rolls her front windows down and lets the wind rush in, flicking through the ponytail her hair is in.

She stops at a bakery on the way back to her place, grabbing sweets for not only her and Zoe, but also Misty and Kyle. Unsure of what to get, she buys several different things and heads out with two bags bigger than her head, both packed with enough sugar to fuel her, Zoe, Misty, and Kyle for a week.

The rest of the drive back to her apartment is pleasant, and she’s there by four o’clock, maybe twenty or thirty minutes after Zoe usually gets off the bus from school. Even though she’s still in her heels, she takes the stairs up to her floor, calling it exercise to justify the chocolates she’s already eaten in the car.

Like usual, she can hear music coming from underneath Misty’s door, and she grins as she knocks. She waits, and there’s a rush of footsteps on the opposite side of the wood before the door opens.

“Delia!” Misty greets, already smiling as she moves over to allow the other woman inside. “You’re here early.”

“And I come bearing gifts,” Cordelia replies, lifting one of the bags as steps into the apartment. When she does, she notices Kyle and Zoe, the two of them laying spread-eagle flat on the living room floor. Zoe’s hair spills around her like a halo, and when Cordelia comes in, she turns her head and waves, but makes no move to get up.

“Hey guys,” she says, earning herself a second wave from Kyle, who doesn’t take his eyes off the ceiling. “What’s happening here?”

“We were dancing, but we got tired so we decided to lay down,” Zoe informs her. “It was hard work.”

“Oh, was it now?” She asks, stifling a laugh as she sets the bag full of desserts on the kitchen island and turns to Misty. Apparently deciding to play along, the other woman nods.

“It was,” she agrees, feigning exhaustion. “We’re ever so tired now.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Cordelia replies. “If you’re that tired, I guess you all ought to go to bed now. Without eating anything I got from the bakery…”

Those are the magic words, because not only do both Zoe and Kyle snap up like they’ve been summoned, but Misty straightens as well, eyes lighting up. She beelines for the bag, both kids climbing to their feet to follow.

“Zoe, I got stuff for us, too,” Cordelia calls, causing her sister to come scampering in her direction instead, obviously looking to be given something sugary to eat. When the girl gets too close, however, Cordelia moves the bag out of her reach, causing Zoe to look up at her with a pout starting to form on her lips.

“You can eat it when we get back to our apartment,” she explains, and her sister takes that as a cue to start trying to put her shoes on that instant, clearly eager. Cordelia can’t stop her laugh, especially when she looks back up to see that both Misty and Kyle have started to shove a cookie each into their faces. When she notices Cordelia watching them, though, Misty’s head snaps up, and a faint red flush starts to bloom across her cheeks, as if she’s been caught.

“Thank you, Delia,” she tries to say, but her mouth is still full, and it comes out far less intelligible than that. Kyle echoes it, quieter, but just as hard to understand.

“You’re welcome,” Cordelia replies, laughter bubbling in her chest.

Misty swallows the crumbs in her mouth before she opens her mouth to speak. “I can pay you back,” she offers, but the other woman shakes her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” she assures them, as Zoe hops to her feet, scooping her backpack off the floor and grabbing her coat from where it’s hanging.

“I’m ready,” the girl tells her. “Can I  _ please  _ have something, too?.”

Cordelia laughs again. “Can you say goodbye, first?”

“Oh,” Zoe says, before turning back to the other two. “Bye Misty, bye Kyle!”

The two of them chorus their goodbyes, and Zoe looks up at her sister with an expectant expression. Cordelia chuckles her way through saying her own farewells and letting the girl lead her out the front door by the hand and over to their apartment. Zoe may be relaxed about several things, but she can also be very serious about others and, as it turns out, one of the things she can be very determined about is her sugar intake.

(Zoe doesn’t calm down until they’re inside and she’s biting into a cupcake, and when she pulls it away from her mouth to reveal that she’s managed to get frosting smeared around her mouth and onto her nose, Cordelia cracks up, laughing so hard she has to grab the kitchen counters for support.)

-

Her mood stays similarly high the next several days. After her talk with Myrtle, she doesn’t enjoy her job any more than the day before, but she does find it more bearable, easier to do without feeling drained or exhausted afterwards. She comes home feeling lighter, and whenever she goes to pick up her sister from Misty’s apartment, Zoe is always smiling, far happier there than she was at the SAC program. Kyle also seems to be in a good mood whenever Cordelia arrives, and slowly, he even starts to warm up to her, his shy waves turning into high fives the more often she comes around.

When Saturday comes, she takes Zoe out to the French Quarter, and they spend the whole day there, visiting bakeries and various stores. Zoe convinces her sister to buy her a pair of sunglasses just a little too big for her face, and spends the whole day wearing them, even once the sun starts to set. Even on the drive home, they spend the whole ride laughing and singing along to the radio with ridiculous grins on their face.

Sunday becomes a lazy day, and they spend the whole day inside relaxing, waking up late for breakfast and watching movies in their pajamas until well past noon. Despite the fact that there are still sweets left over from Thursday’s trip to the bakery, they make cookies, and Zoe insists on taking some over to Misty and Kyle.

The weekend ends, but they stay in good spirits anyways, heading back to school and work with pep left in their step. The first day of the week is one of Cordelia’s half days, so she gets from work at around one twenty, only to run into Misty in the hallway.

Run into Misty in a very literal sense, that is, because as Cordelia as approaching her apartment and digging through her purse for the keys, Misty is coming out of her own unit and trying to shove her stuff in her bag. They don’t collide hard, but it shocks the both of them, stumbling away from each other with wide eyes.

Misty is the first to recover. “Oh, Cordelia,” she greets, a little breathless. “I didn’t see ya there.”

“That might be my fault, a little,” the other blonde replies, lips curling into a smile. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, either.”

“Well, ain’t we a pair?” Misty teases. There’s a moment where they stand there staring at each other with fond expressions, before something like disappointment twists the taller woman’s features.

“I really wish I could stay an’ talk, but I’ve gotta get out to the shop,” Misty says, regretful. 

Even if she does feel a little bit let down, Cordelia smiles anyway. “It’s fine,” she assures her. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, anyway, and then Wednesday for tea. Go.”

Misty gives her a small grin, reaching out to hug her before darting off, pulling the shawl she’s carrying over her shoulder as she rushes off towards the stairs. Cordelia is left staring at the space behind her for a long moment before she shakes her head and finally manages to dig out her keys, stepping into her own apartment, the barest hint of…  _ something  _ fluttering in her chest.

Normally, her Monday afternoons are spent running around the apartment and taking care of chores here and there, but instead, she settles in with her laptop and starts to actually look into going back to school.

If she’s honest, she isn’t really sure what she’s doing. The first time she went to college, she had just graduated from high school, had no job or obligations or anything of the sort besides her relationship with Hank. She didn’t have to worry about making time for it in her schedule, because when she was in school, it was the only thing she had to focus on. Now, she’s not only trying to pick up another major, but she also has to worry about taking care of Zoe, and holding a job, whether or not it’s the one she’s currently in.

Thinking about it all gives her a little bit of a headache, enough so that she closes her laptop after half an hour or so, deciding to set it aside for the moment. She’s still not sure exactly what she wants out of it all, how much longer she’s really looking at working at her current firm, or if she’s really sure that she wants to go back to school. Logically, she knows that teaching is something she’s always wanted to do, but she can’t help the seed of doubt that’s crawled into her chest and made itself at home. 

Zoe gets home before too long, pouting about how Kyle got picked up from school early and she had to ride the bus home alone. The bad mood, however, is quickly solved with a plate of cookies, and after a few minutes, her sister is talking about the rest of her day as she starts in on whatever worksheet she brought home with her. Dinner follows a few hours later, and the rest of the night is as normal as it ever is.

The next day is Tuesday, however, and Cordelia wakes up with a funny feeling. Something is scratching at the back of her mind, like she’s missing something, or forgotten about it. For the life of her, she can’t seem to remember what it is, and it leaves her feeling thrown off. Still, an odd feeling isn’t anything to get herself worked up over, so she gets ready and heads out to work like normal.

The traffic is particularly bad that morning, so she gets into work a little late. Myrtle is unbothered, of course, but Cordelia still insists on working just a little later to make up with it. It’s become an office joke that she’s Myrtle’s favorite employee, but as with most jokes, there’s a hint of truth to it, and Cordelia often finds herself trying to go out of her way to play off anything that might be perceived as favoritism from the woman. Therefore, if she shows up late, she’ll work late, just to make sure everyone sees she’s doing just as much work as they are.

Because of it, she gets to Misty’s just a little bit late, too, but the woman cares about as much as Myrtle did: very little. If possible, Zoe cares even less, because she didn’t notice, too caught up in whatever game she was playing with Kyle. Still, she pops up from her seat and moves to get ready to leave when Cordelia walks in the door, accustomed to the routine in which they live.

Zoe hugs both Kyle and Misty, and Cordelia gets her daily high five from the blonde-haired boy before they leave. The younger of the two is already talking about her day from the second they step out of the hallway, making sure to point out that she’s already done her homework for the night with Kyle as Cordelia unlocks the door to their apartment.

As they make their way inside, though, Zoe stops in the middle of the sentence, and when Cordelia glances back at her, she finds the girl staring at her feet. Following her sister’s gaze, she notices the white envelope poking out from under the toe of Zoe’s sneaker. It must have been slipped under their apartment door at some point during the day, because it wasn’t there this morning, and any mail from the post office goes into their mailbox.

Zoe bends over to grab it, studying it for a minute before she passes it over to the blonde. “It’s got your name on it,” she says.

She’s right, and Cordelia traces the letters of her name across it as Zoe trots off further into the apartment. She feels like she should recognize this, should know what it is, but she can’t place it.

As her sister walks off into her bedroom, Cordelia steps over to the kitchen island and begins to pull at the flap until it comes open. When she turns the envelope upside down, there’s a clink of something metal hitting the counter top, and a piece of paper slides out after it. She reaches out to grab it, turning the white sheet over to find, in familiar handwriting, the address of one of the nicer banks in the city, along with a note.

_ (Three months. Security deposit box number 229. I’m sorry. David.) _

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle any noise that might slip from her mouth, and when she sets the paper aside, she notices what exactly the metal that came from the envelope was. A key.

Or, more specifically, the key that she’s been waiting for, the one that opens her mother’s security deposit box.

The one that was supposed to hold all the answers she’d been looking for.


	11. everybody finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i noodled up and this was two days late yall, but here it is: the opening of the box.

__Cordelia waits until Wednesday to get the box.

She sits through her entire day of work, trying to pretend she isn’t nearly as distracted as she is. Somehow, with her life starting to pick back up around her, she’s managed to forget about it, but the now that she has the actual key, it’s all she can think about, a burning thought in the front of her mind she can’t ignore.

Surely, of course, Myrtle must notice, but she says nothing this time. Maybe she can sense there’s something different with Cordelia this time, because she leaves her alone to her work day in peace.

Any newfound sort of appreciation she might have for her job goes out the window, because it’s nearly impossible to focus. The key sits in her purse, but it might as well be pressed right against the skin between her breasts, because she can almost feel the presence of it like a physical thing in her chest.

Thankfully, it’s a Wednesday, and when she gets off, she gathers her things and makes a quick exit in case anybody might try to stop her on her way out. She gets to her car and pulls out of the parking lot with no issue, and from there, she drives to the bank.

She’s never been to this one before, but it’s known to be a little upscale, usually used by some of the more well-off people in the city. There’s marble decorating the inside, and while the lighting is bright, it isn’t harsh.

The teller who helps her is rather friendly, and after a short conversation and showing him the key, along with her ID, he leads her through a door and off into another part of the building. The room he takes her to is lined wall to wall with boxes, row after row of gray boxes surrounding her.

“What number?” He asks.

Her mind stalls before the answer comes to mind. “229.”

He nods, leading her to back wall as if he already knows exactly which one she’s talking about. Maybe he does, because it takes him all of a few seconds to pick it out among the others, pointing it out.

“It takes two keys to open,” he tells her, but he must see the way she blanches at the mention of a second key, because he smiles. “Don’t worry, the second key is the one I carry, that way people can’t get into the boxes without an employee.”

“Ah,” she nods, doing her best to manage a smile.

“Do you have yours?”

He must know she has it, because she showed him at the counter, but she pulls it out anyway. “Right here,” she says.

He holds up his own. “Right, so I’m going to put mine right here in the left slot,” he explains, sliding his key into one of the locks just under the number  _ 229\.  _ ”And you put yours in the right.”

She does as he explains, and on his instruction, they turn both keys at the same time. The lock gives in an audible click, and when he pulls on the handle, the box slides open like a drawer.

Inside, there’s what looks like a bunch of papers, along with an envelope and a manilla folder. She’s just able to make out Zoe’s name on the folder before she tears her eyes away. While she wants to read over everything in here, wants to see what was so important, she also wants to wait until she’s home, lest she start crying in the middle of the bank.

Doing her best to avoid truly  _ looking  _ at what’s inside, she scoops out everything inside the box and tucks it into her purse. The bank employee smiles at her once she’s finished, closing the box up behind them and leading her out. She bids him a pleasant goodbye before leaving.

She doesn’t realize until she’s sitting in the car, her bag sitting in the passenger side beside her, that her heartbeat has picked up. It thrums in her ches, and in that moment, she stops to consider that maybe she’s scared. Whatever her mother left her in this box, whatever was worth going to such lengths, must be important. Maybe it’s the answers she’s looking for, maybe it isn’t, but whatever it is, it’s surely not _ nothing. _

The entire drive home, she feels on edge. The nerves have found a home in her stomach, and they refuse to be moved from their place. It’s almost a solid half hour from the bank to her apartment, and with all of the files and the paper sitting in the seat right beside her, she can feel the tension starting to build in the car, even if she’s the only one inside.

She does a bit of a poor parking job when she finally pulls into the lot of her building, but she’s too impatient to stop and try to correct it, grabbing her bag from the passenger seat and heading straight inside. The doorman waves at her when she enters, and she does her best to smile at him, even if she knows it’ll look forced.

(Either way, he works in her building. She’s a tenant. He can’t call her out on it.)

After a second of debate, she skips on the elevator, knowing that waiting inside for it to finally hit her floor will only make her feel more antsy. At least in the stairwell, she can control her own speed and how fast she moves, rather than being put at the mercy of something beyond her control.

Considering she’s still wearing her heels, she makes it up there in impressive time, her shoes clicking louder against the floor the faster she walks. As she nears her apartment, though, she does stop to spare a glance at Misty’s door for a moment. Normally, they’d be having tea right now, but she’d texted the other woman last night and explained what was happening. Of course, Misty had been more than understanding, even going as far as to offer to watch Zoe that afternoon, and when Cordelia had tried to protest, she’d insisted. Eventually, Cordelia had agreed, because even if she didn’t want to admit, she knew that whatever was waiting for her today would likely have some kind of effect on her, and it might be for the best if Zoe wasn’t there to see it.

She gets a little caught up in her thoughts at that, and she shakes herself out of it, moving to unlock the door to her own place. When she opens the door, she finds that the kitchen and living room lights are still on inside, likely just a product of the haze she was in this morning. Honestly, though, she can’t even be bothered to care in the moment, because within seconds, she’s kicked her heels off and made her way into the kitchen to set her bag on the counter. In the next moment or two, she’s shrugged off her jacket and tossed it aside, and reached up to pull her hair out of the ponytail she wears to work.

Once she’s actually reaching into her purse to pull the contents of the box out, however, she hesitates. The same nerves that caught up to her in the car make their comeback, and a lump starts to form in her throat. A part of her considers hiding them away, storing them for another day, because no matter what she’s about to find out, she can never unlearn it.

She has to know, though. With how sudden her mother’s death seemed, with the lingering fear that it still could have been murder, with the idea that she might have willingly chose to orphan her eight year old daughter, as well as Cordelia herself, she has to know. She needs a reason, needs a why, so she can close the door on this, so she can put it behind, so she can  _ move on. _

Without the speed or rush she had getting up to her apartment, Cordelia reaches into her bag and pulls out the stacks of envelopes and paper. They have a heft when she holds them all in her hands, and she carries them over to the dining room table to take a seat, spreading them out before her.

Her eyes catch on the envelopes first. The first is much like the one that was slipped under her door, white and small and also bearing her name, but this time, the handwriting is that of her mother, familiar and curling and ever so neat. Her breath hitches at the sight, and the urge to cry pricks at the back of her mind, but she pushes it away to look at the manilla folder instead. Unlike the other one, it’s large, the kind meant for placing whole sheets of paper inside without bending them. When she picks it up, she can tell by the weight that there’s at least a small stack of papers inside, but that’s not what she focuses on, because it’s labeled.

_ Zoe’s Father. _

That, of course, is an entire can of worms that’s never been handed to her before. She almost wants to start with it, just to know the answer right away, but she pushes it aside instead, along with the other envelope, because there’s still an entire stack of papers waiting beside it all.

It isn’t a small stack, either, probably rivaling the size of her closed fist, all held together with a single rubber band that looks like maybe it’s a little  _ too  _ stretched. Careful not to snap it against herself, Cordelia pulls the band away and slides it onto her wrist, letting everything come loose and fall into a  pile on the table.

The first piece of paper she picks up has a header, and when Cordelia reads it, her forehead brow furrows.  _ Ochsner Medical Center  _ stares up at her like a taunt, like it knows something she doesn’t, and she skims the rest of the paper with confusion.

It’s a bill, with her mother’s name printed on it. Words like  _ ‘radiology’ _ and _ ‘treatment’  _ pop out at her, as well as the ridiculously large amounts of money that go along with them. When she thumbs through several other sheets from the stack, they all look similar, bills with big words and high totals.

It isn’t until her eyes are reading the word  _ ‘cancer’  _ that she gets it, and when it clicks, a strangled sort of gasp falls from her lips before she can stop it.

Cancer.

Her mother had cancer.

Tears have been a bit of a hovering threat ever since she sat down, but now they become an actual possibility, warmth welling behind her eyes as she tries to take in what she’s just learned. After flipping through the rest of the stack to find it’s all the same, a stack of medical bills and treatment lists, detailing the various procedures and such that her mother underwent. Some of it reads chemotherapy, some of it is hormone based, and there’s even a surgery.

(Okay, she and her mother were never close, not since she was little and their relationship was still easy, but how did she miss an entire  _ surgery? _ )

She has to take a moment to digest it all, pushing the bills aside and dropping her face into her hands, elbows propped up on the table to keep her head from falling. There’s something so wrong, so unsettling, with the idea of her mother- the big, bad, and untouchable Fiona Goode- having cancer. It feels like a joke, or an elaborate scheme, something that couldn’t have been real.

When she glances up through her fingers, though, the envelope bearing her name stares right back. The familiar lines of her mother’s writing are unmistakable, especially after Cordelia grew up watching the woman sign them on form after form for school, appointments with the doctor, or things along those lines. She always managed to make the name look so elegant on paper, almost regal. Once, when she was a kid, she’d asked her mother about it, and the woman given her a wry grin.

“You’re a Goode, darling,” Fiona had said, taking a drag from her cigarette. “That’s the way it ought to be.”

Cordelia’s hand shakes as she reaches out to grab the envelope. She expects to have some sort of reaction to the touch of it, a shock up her arm or a burning in her fingertips, but it’s just an envelope, as regular as they come. When she turns it over in her hands and runs her finger underneath the flap, it takes a bit of tugging to pull it up, as if somebody went out of their way to make sure it was sealed well. 

When it comes free, she reaches in to pull out the paper inside. It’s not the usual kind that her mother sends out, the thick cardstock meant to make a point, but just a regular sheet that could have been pulled from any old lined notebook, if it weren’t for the perfectly straight edge on the side. 

The page is covered, top to bottom, in slanted writing. The black ink is immaculate, no smears, no smudges, and if it weren’t for the variation in the letters and the fact that Cordelia is certain it’s her mother’s writing, she could almost say it was typed.

_ Cordelia,  _ it starts.

_ As you may be able to tell by now, I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. Specifically, Meningeal Carcinomatosis. I have been, for some time now, undergoing various treatment.  In the beginning, I will admit that I hoped I’d be able to take care of it before you or your sister ever caught on, and that it would be gone within a few months. However, the doctors tried several things, and nothing took. Eventually, they told me that the cancer had become terminal, and at best, I was looking at less than a year. _

_ I didn’t want anyone to see me the way I would have been at the end, but I wasn’t left with a lot of options. So I decided to put the decision in my own hands, rather than let it be made for me. I chose to end my life. _

_ However, you’ve seen how people are treated, are remembered for things like that. In the eyes of the world, and many people, there’s no good way or reason to do so. But I knew it was the right decision, so I staged the accident. I set the house on fire, and I let myself go down with it. After all, I’d rather be known as the woman who burned up like some Salem witch than for taking my own life, or having you and Zoe watch me die. I made the choice I made for a reason, and I won’t regret it. _

_ I ask that you don’t tell Zoe. When she’s older, maybe, but not now. She’s ahead for her age, sure, but she’s sensitive, and she’s much too young to understand. But you’re smart, Delia, and I know that you had to have figured out there was something bigger going on. I could never slip anything past you when you were a kid. _

_ You may not agree with what I did, but I hope that you will come to understand why I did what I did. I may not have been able to live forever, but at least now, you will remember as I was, not what I would have become. Now, I wish only that you and Zoe may live on without me and be happy. I love you both. _

_ With Love, _

_ Fiona Goode _

_ Your Mother _

 

…

 

She had cancer.

She was dying.

She burned the house.

She loved them.

For the first time in weeks, Cordelia buries her head in her hands and lets herself  _ sob _ .

-

It takes a good while for Cordelia to pull herself together. Once the floodgates have opened, they refuse to be shut until the dam is empty. She’s always been that way, trying to bottle up sadness and tuck until there’s no room for anymore, and once some starts to escape, the rest follows. She spends at least twenty minutes at the dining room table with her head pillowed in her arms, crying until the well’s run dry and her back hurts from being hunched over for so long.

Once her tears have subsided, though, and she’s checked the time, Cordelia puts away the files from the security deposit box, heads into the bathroom to wash her face, and gives herself a few minutes for the red in her cheeks to fade, before she makes her way over to Misty’s apartment to get her sister. Both Zoe and Kyle are doing their homework when she arrives, and the second she’s in the door, Misty is at her side, almost hovering, as if she wants to ask questions. She doesn’t though, likely because the kids are right there, but Cordelia can see the concern written all over her face.

Zoe’s in a good mood, but she’s likely able to sense that her sister isn’t, because she stays quieter. She says muted goodbyes before they head out of the apartment, and she doesn’t chatter when they get back to their place. Not in a sad way, the was she usually is when she starts to withdraw, but in the kind of way as if she’s trying to give Cordelia her space. She may be young, but Zoe’s always had a knack for sensing emotion in the air around her, and considering that she and Cordelia have spent the majority of their time together for three months, they’ve gotten pretty good at reading each other. Therefore, once they’re home, Zoe retreats to her bedroom to finish her homework, leaving Cordelia to start dinner in silence.

It’s much later, once Zoe’s gone to bed and Cordelia’s started in on her second glass of wine, that there’s a knock on the door. Her first thought is that it’s the cops again, or maybe even David, but when she opens the door, Misty’s standing on the other side, rocking back and forth on the slightest bit on her heels.

When the door opens, she seems almost startled by it, but she manages the hint of a smile. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey?” Cordelia echoes, confusion furrowing her brow. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I- just comin’ to check on ya,” she replies. “You seemed real off earlier, and I know you got… the box today, so I just wanted to see if you were okay?”

Despite the events of the day, Misty’s words bring the beginnings of smile to her face, as well as a flicker of warmth to her chest. 

“I’m okay,” Cordelia assures her, but Misty only lifts a brow in clear disbelief, so she amends it. “Well, maybe I’m not okay, but… I’m alright.”

“And… did she?”

Cordelia sighs. “She did,” she answers. “She had cancer.”

Misty freezes, blinking several times before she seems to regain the ability to speak. “She what?”

“She set the fire because she had cancer,” Cordelia explains, eyes flicking to her floor to avoid making eye contact. “It was… it was terminal, but she wanted to go out on her own terms. But she didn’t want to be known for killing herself, so she tried to stage it as an accident. Or, at least, something vague.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when she’s able to lift her gaze, the other woman is staring at her in shock. Her jaw works up and down, but no words come out on the first try.

Finally, though, she’s able to manage to speak. “Lord, Delia’s, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Cordelia shrugs. “It’s… there’s nothing to be done about it now, is there?” 

“That doesn’t mean you ain’t allowed to be upset,” the taller blonde says. “It’s still… still awful.”

“It’s life.”

She tries to sound unaffected, but her chest tightens, and she clenches her jaw at the feeling of tears tickling the back of her eyes. Misty must notice, because her already sad face turns even softer.

“Do you want a hug?”

Cordelia blanks. Her gut reaction is just to say no, almost on principle. She’s used to insisting she doesn’t need people, and ever since the end of her relationship with Hank, she’s stopped seeking out affection from other people on purpose. The only person she’s grown used to initiating contact with is her sister, but other than that, she’s no longer used it.

And yet, she has to admit that she  _ does _ want a hug.

“Okay.”

Misty reaches out to pull the shorter woman into her, and Cordelia hesitates for half a second before sinking into the embrace, her arms coming up around Misty’s back so that her hands are flat against the backs of the blonde’s shoulders. It’s nice; Misty is warm, and holds Cordelia tighter than expected, as if the pressure is meant to help hold Cordelia together. They stand there in the threshold for a good thirty seconds, just hugging.

It’s… strangely intimate, and something in Cordelia’s chest tugs, and pulls, and sparks like a fire, spreading down to her stomach and settling there. She wouldn’t call them butterflies, but she’d call them… something.

(As if this day hasn’t been overwhelming enough, she’s starting to realize that the way she feels around Misty might be something more than just friendly.)

When Cordelia starts to pull back, Misty’s arms fall away, as if she was only waiting for the other woman to break the embrace. A moment passes between them, a moment where they’re both still standing just a little bit in each other’s space, a moment where they’re stuck in silence as Misty stares down at Cordelia, and Cordelia only stares right back.

It’s broken when Misty glances back at her door with something like regret in her face. “I have to go back,” she says, like she feels guilty about it. “Kyle gets nightmares sometimes, and if I ain’t there when he wakes up, it doesn’t go well.”

“It’s fine,” Cordelia assures her, because she doesn’t know how else to say it. She doesn’t know how to say  _ ‘thank you for showing up when I had nobody else to do it for me, for coming when you didn’t have to, when I didn’t even ask’. _ She doesn’t know how to say any of that, so she just smiles, and settles on: “It was more than enough.”

Misty’s lips curl up in the corners, a little sad, and she reaches out to squeeze Cordelia’s shoulder. Her hand lingers, and even once it drops back to her side, Cordelia can feel it like a phantom, even as she watches Misty disappear into her own apartment before she heads back inside her own.

It isn’t until she finds herself standing in the cracked-open doorway of her sister’s room, checking in on the sleeping girl, does she remember about the last item in the box, the one she’d managed to forget about with everything else that had been going on.

The last envelope. 

Doing her best to be quiet, she slides away from Zoe’s room and into her own. The files have been shoved into a box and stashed on the top shelf of her closet, just to make sure they stay out of the way, somewhere where nobody else should be looking. Reaching up, she brings it down and carries it to her bed, pulling the lid off so she can rifle through until she finds what she wants.

Once she’s got her hands on it, she pulls the envelope out, a little surprised that she’d managed to forget out about. The lettering on the front is done in the same handwriting and black ink as the letter her mother had left for her.

_ Zoe’s Father. _

It’s a question Cordelia’s been asking ever since she found out her mother was pregnant, but the woman had always refused to give her an answer. There was no way, of course, that it was Cordelia’s dad, since the man was dead, but Fiona had refused to say anything. No hints, no teasing, no nothing. In fact, the first few times the topic would come up, she would shut down, in a way that Cordelia had never seen before. Eventually, she’d taken a step back on the subject once she’d noticed the way it affected her mother, because even if their relationship was strained at times, it was almost impossible to miss the way the woman reacted to it. Clearly, it was a sore topic.

And now, more than likely, the answer to question she’d been asking for eight years was inside a manilla envelope. No matter what it is, it probably won’t be as shocking as the news she’d already gotten from the box, but in a way, she already knew some of what was coming there, had suspected her mother set the fire, even if she’d had no idea of the reason. However, Zoe’s father is a total mystery to her, and she can honestly say that she has no idea what to expect.

That doesn’t mean, however, that she doesn’t want to know.

She takes a deep breath, and rips open the flap.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> misty wasn’t even supposed to be in this chapter, but the lesbianism really jumped out, didn’t it??


	12. lay it all down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is late AGAIN i'm sorry i'm off my game after coming back from vacation

The air ruffles Cordelia’s hair as she pushes open the door to the building, a buzz sounding off in the distance in time with her entrance. The walls and furniture around her is done in dark colors, grays and blacks, and even if the lights overhead are bright, it does nothing to add any sort of warmth to the room. She glances around for a moment until she sees what must be the receptionist’s desk on the other side of a glass pane, and the woman inside is already staring at her, likely has been since she arrived.

Cordelia’s heels click against the floor as she makes her way over, filling the silence around her. The receptionist gives her a cursory glance as she comes to a stop in front of her.

“Can I help you?”

Shrugging her jacket higher over her shoulders, she clears her throat. “I’m Cordelia Goode,” she replies. “I called yesterday.”

“Ah, yes,” the woman replies,flicking through a stack of papers sitting by the phone on her table. “You’re the woman who wants to see Joseph, yes?”

“I… yes, that would be me,” Cordelia confirms, a little miffed at hearing him referred to by his first name. The woman gives her a look that the blonde can’t quite decipher.

“Not many people come to a prison on a Friday morning,” the woman says, as she reaches out for her keyboard to type something into it. “And Joseph, he’s an odd one. Doesn’t get a lot of visitors.”

(Not many people’s mothers burn their family homes down in pursuit of ending their lives. And not a lot of people are given custody of the younger sibling at only twenty-four. And she’s certain that most people don’t find out the parentage of their younger siblings until three months  _ after  _ they’ve gotten custody.

Not many people are Cordelia.)

She doesn’t really know what to say to that, at least out loud, so she stays silent as the other woman goes about her business, picking up the phone and speaking a few quiet sentences in the phone. A minute or so later, a door near to the desk opens, and man dressed in a prison uniform appears.

“Ms. Goode?” He asks, and she nods. In response, he offers the hint of a smile, but it’s of a professional sort, not the kind somebody truly means. 

“If you’ll just follow me, I’m here to escort you to the visiting room,” he explains, gesturing in the direction he’s come from. She hesitates, before making her way over, and he takes that as a cue to head up through the hallway, Cordelia only following half a step behind.

“Usually, personal visitations are done on Saturdays, in a larger room,” he tells her, as he leads her further into the prison. “But given the… nature of your visit, we thought this might be best for a more private one, so I’m taking you towards one of the smaller rooms that’s usually reserved for when a prisoner needs to speak with a lawyer or an attorney. However, you said it was urgent, and orders came from up high-”

(So maybe she had used her family name and called in a favor or two. Given the circumstances, she thinks she can be forgiven.)

“-So we’ve made some accommodations,” he finishes, just as they step through another door and into a smaller room. The coloring and furniture is just as bleak as the rest of the place, but she thanks him anyway as he directs her to a seat.

“Anyways, I’ll be heading off to go grab Mr. Mumfre,” he says to her, but as he’s walking away, he pauses mid-step, before turning back around to face Cordelia.

“You know, you’re not the first person who’s come by to see Mr. Mumfre,” the man cautions. “He said yes yesterday, but he could change his mind. He’s denied every other visitor.”

She tips her chin up. “If he refuses, tell him it’s about my mother,” she replies, a loftiness in her tone she doesn’t often use, but one she learned to perfect nonetheless. “Fiona Goode.”

The guard nods before disappearing through another door, leaving her alone in the room. It looks about as cheerful as the first room she entered, but then again, that’s probably to be expected from a prison. 

It seems to take forever. The hand on her watch ticks onto a new minute, and then another, as her fingers drum along the table. Even if she’s doing her best to ignore it, she’s nervous, a sort of twitching feeling that’s settled in her stomach. Not only is she waiting to meet an actual criminal, a stranger in jail for murder, but- he’s Zoe’s  _ father.  _ Cordelia has wondered about this for eight years, an entire third of her life, and for better or for worse, the answer may be coming to sit in the seat across from her. 

After three minutes, one hundred and eighty seconds that seem to go on forever, the door the guard left from opens, and he returns, but he isn’t alone. In front of him is another man, built bulky with salt-and-pepper hair. Cordelia recognizes him, has seen his pictures in the papers, on the news during his trail, in her own research.

Joseph Mumfre, the Axeman.

Zoe’s father.

He must have known he was coming in here to see Cordelia, but he freezes once his eyes land on her. They study each other in silence, almost as if sizing each other up, before he’s shoved towards the table. He doesn’t stumble, as if the touch doesn’t even rattle him, but he does glare at the guard who pushed him. There’s no resistance, however, and Cordelia watches in silence as the guard moves around the other man, removing his handcuffs to shackle his hands to the table, pinning them in place. Cordelia knows it’s for her own safety, but there’s something uncomfortable to her about the fact that she can see him chained down right in front of her.

The guard takes up station at the door, back straight and arms crossed, but he doesn't leave. It must be standard procedure, and although she would like privacy, she also knows that this is likely as good as it’ll get.

When she turns back to Joseph, she still finds him studying her, as he has been since he sat down. It’s almost calculating, the way he looks at her, and she finds herself waiting for him to speak first.

Finally, he does.

“You look like your mother.”

It’s such a common thing for her to hear that she almost laughs. “I get that a lot,” she tells him. “But I don’t really see it.”

“It’s a lotta things,” he replies. “The hair, for one. A lot of people are blonde, but there’s different colors. You and your mother have the exact same shade.”

She’s unsure of what to say to that, shifting in her chair. He can sense it, because any sort of tension he lost comes back, and he squares his shoulders, sitting taller.

“I suppose you’ve got some reason to see me, then,” he says. “Not a lot of people come to visit a killer for kicks. Although, you’d be surprised.”

“Some people have weird hobbies.”  _ Fetishes, too,  _ she thinks, but chooses not to voice that aloud.

“You don’t seem like the type,” he replies.

“I wouldn’t say I am.”

He stops to consider her again, before his eyes narrow. “Did your mother send you?” He asks, tipping his chin up. “Is this some sort of favor or something that you’re doing for her? Sending you to do her dirty work? She wants you to deliver some message because she hasn’t been bothered to come by and see me herself in over eight and a half years?”

Her brow furrows, and she stares at him in confusion until it hits her. He has no idea about what happened to her mother, not if the way he talks about her in present tense is any indication. It’s probably something she should have considered; she has no idea how much news they really get in prison, and while there was definitely some media coverage on her mother’s death, it wasn’t necessarily on the front page every day.

She gets so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice she’s gone silent, and he arches a brow at her, clearly expecting a response to his questions. Her thoughts flounder for a few moments before they right themselves, like a train getting back on track. 

“You don’t get the news here?” She asks, just to confirm. His expression twists at the sudden change in topic.

“Not particularly often, it is a prison,” he replies. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“My mother is dead.”

There might have been a better way to put it, something a little less harsh, less dispassionate, but it’s also straightforward, and the truth. Shock settles in the air around them, and she watches as something flickers in eyes, and his face falls. Not all the way, but there’s clearly something  _ sad  _ in the way he looks at her now, even through whatever mask he’s trying to put up.

“What happened?”

“I- there was a fire,” she explains. “Our house burned down. She didn’t make it out.”

(From here on out, that’s the truth, at least to everybody else. Misty knows, and she assumes that David also must know something, but Fiona wanted to be known as a woman who died in a tragic accident, not one who took her own life. Zoe will never know, the public will never know, and this man who she’s only just met is not an exception.)

Actual, genuine grief flashes across his face. It’s fleeting, and he wipes it away before it can linger, but she sees it. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, and even if she can tell he’s trying to seem unaffected, she can hear in his voice that he means it. It makes her wonder, if he hasn’t heard from Fiona for over eight years like he’s said, how much must he have felt for her to still care.

“I know you and my mother were… involved,” she says, and he gives the slightest of chuckles, but it comes out almost like a scoff. “But… how long? Was it serious?”

“Was it serious?” He repeats. “Well, she never came to see me, never wrote me. And she never replied to the letters I sent, either.”

“But before that?”

“I thought so,” he answers. “I told her I loved her, and she told me the same. I was just waiting for her to tell you. And then I got arrested, and convicted, and she disappeared.”

There’s silence, because how does she respond to that? She isn’t sure she can speak on her mother’s behalf, not about that, but Fiona’s dead. There’s no answer for her to give him, not one that’s solid, not one that’s true, but she does think she knows why, just a little. She isn’t stupid, after all, and she can do math. Zoe came eight months after he was arrested, and six after he was convicted. By the time she was born, he’d spent half a year in jail, and with a thirty year sentence, he wasn’t getting out anytime soon. There was, of course, a very real chance that he’d die before he was out of prison, and if he didn’t, Zoe’d be far past grown up by the time he was released.

She doesn’t voice any of this, though, because she isn’t even sure if she’s going to tell him about Zoe. Her mother hadn’t left any instructions on what she wanted to be done, didn’t leave any wishes. The only things in the envelope had been case files, mugshots, and a picture of her mother with the man, the two of them smiling. 

And, there’d been a note, barely the size of an index card.  _ He doesn’t know. _

Quiet falls between them again, and after a moment, she decides to switch topics, trying to move on track towards why she came in the first place.

“I have to ask this,” she starts. “But why? Why’d you do it?”

(Cordelia remembers the Axeman trail. 

She remembers it really well, considering it was on the television all the time, and her mother seemed to make a habit of watching the news coverage. At the time, she’d thought it was morbid, but now maybe she understands. Finding out your pregnant, watching the father of the baby be thrown up on the news, branded as a killer and sentenced to jail?

It all makes sense. The way her mother would shut down, why she would never say who Zoe’s father was. Everything is connected in this crazy, messed-up plot, and if Cordelia didn’t know any better, she’d say she was living through some television show plot.

But the one thing the television could never tell her was why he did it, and on the stand, he’d refused to say. Some said he did it because he was evil, or possessed. Some said he was in love with the woman, but she turned him down, so he’d killed them both. But he never said why.

If Cordelia’s considering trusting him with Zoe, she has to know why.)

He clenches his jaw. “I don’t see why you have to ask that,” he replies. “There are more things at play than you know, and it’s usually a good rule of thumb not to get involved with things you don’t understand.”

She swallows, because it’s not like she can just say  _ you’re the father of my little sister, sometimes I think she’s the only thing I have left, and I need to know I can trust you with knowing of her  _ without spilling everything. 

“Please,” she pleads. “It’s important. Trust me.”

“Trust you?”

_ “Please.” _

He sighs. “Look, Cordelia,” he starts. “There are things at play here that you don’t understand, and to lay them all out would be to drag you into a story you have no place in. I made a bad decision, and it led me to the wrong people. That’s all I have to say about it.”

“At your trial, you refused to say why-”

“And I’m refusing again now,” he replies, cutting her off. Tension settles in his body, and his eyes have turned to something like steel. It’s clearly not a topic to push him on, not unless she wants him to leave, and if she’s honest, a part of her shys away at what he’s already said. The idea of getting caught up in whatever circumstances surround a double murder and a thirty year sentence makes her feel unsettled, especially after how she’s felt the past few months with everything going on in relation to her mother. She’s just come out of that, and maybe it isn’t the best idea to go jumping right into something else.

Does she tell him, though? On one hand, she isn’t sure there’s much he’d be able to do from where he is now, but he is a convicted felon. On the other, though, he’s Zoe’s dad. Cordelia may not remember her own as well as she used to, now that she’s grown older, but she does miss him, does wish she’d been able to spend more time with him, could speak to him again. It may not be the same thing, but Zoe’s father is here, and Cordelia can give her maybe some semblance of closure over it, now that she’s old enough to recognize all the other kids have a mom and a dad except her. If Cordelia can give her sister a dad, does she really have the right to keep it from her?

They don’t speak for a long minute, but eventually, he breaks the quiet between them.

“I am sorry about your mother, though,” he apologizes, relaxing into his seat again. “It must not be the easiest thing, having to deal with that all alone, by yourself.”

It’s the fact that he seems so earnest about it, so genuine, that sets her mind. She makes the snap decision, in that moment, that she’s going to tell him. Whether or not he’s a criminal, whether or not a lot of things, he has a daughter. And, on top of that, he’s the only parent Zoe has left. Even if he’s in prison, it’s something,

“It’s, well, it isn’t just me,” she says, fingers curling together in her lap. “I have a younger sister.”

His eyes flash. “So she moved on, then.”

Cordelia swallows, and after a second, shakes her head. “Not exactly,” she replies. “She’s.... she’s almost eight years old. Her birthday is next week.”

He doesn’t seem to get it at first, but she watches the recognition set it, a mix of emotions flashing over his face within a matter of seconds. She lets the silence stretch out between them, giving him the chance to think in peace before he speaks.

Finally, he does. “And you’re sure she’s mine?”

“It was in an envelope my mother left me, full of case files and a note,” she replies. “Maybe I’m not the best person to say, but she did leave an entire folder about it for me in case of her death. I don’t really see why she’d lie about it.”

Another beat passes. “I… I have a daughter?”

“Her name is Zoe.”

“Zoe,” he repeats, something like awe in his face. “What’s she like?”

Cordelia smiles. “She’s… quiet,” she tells him. “But she’s a good kid. She’s in the second grade, and she loves to read, but she’s really bad at math.”

“What else?”

“She’s sweet, but she’s shy,” Cordelia continues. “She isn’t very outgoing, and she doesn’t necessarily bond with a lot of other kids, but her best friend is the neighbor’s nephew. They play hide and seek and dance to Fleetwood Mac. She would eat cereal for every meal of the day if you let her, and she loves any sort of sweet. And she hates fish sticks.”

“Does she look like me?”

In response, Cordelia reaches into her jacket. Yesterday, she’d printed and tucked a few photos of Zoe into her pocket, a few shots from over the years. The first is from her fifth birthday party, her whole body leaned over to blow out the candles of her cake, the glow of the flames dancing off her cheeks. The second is from a week ago, when she and Zoe had gone to the French Quarter, her sister wearing those sunglasses too big for her face and smiling up at the camera, but her favorite is the third, one Misty took it two weeks ago. It catches Zoe mid spin, her arms flung from her body and her hair fanning out around her like a wave. It’s a little blurry, a mid-movement photo, but Zoe’s grin is wide and her eyes are bright. She looks happy.

When she places them on the table and slides them in front of Joseph, he must agree, because he glances at all of them before he stops on the last photo, fingers tracing the edge of the image.

“She looks like my mother,” he whispers, lifting his head to look at Cordelia again. “This is my daughter?”

Her lip curls up on the corner. “That’s Zoe.”

He smiles, turning his eyes back to the photos. “She’s beautiful,” he says. “I… can I keep these?”

“Of course,” Cordelia replies. “I can always make copies.”

“Do… do you have any more?” 

The hint of a grin on her mouth curves up a little higher. “I can send more,” she assures him.

His face has softened, hard lines smoothing out, and when she looks a little closer, she can see that his eyes have grown wet, as if he’s in danger of crying. He is, she realizes, when one of his hands comes up to swipe at the edge of his cheek, even if there isn’t a tear there yet.

“I have a daughter,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

She spends the rest of her visit answering his questions. He wants to know everything there is to know, her favorite colors and animals and books, things she likes and the things she doesn’t, how well she’s doing in school. He’s also concerned about how well she’s dealing with their mother’s death, but Cordelia glosses over that a little bit, hesitant to express just how much Zoe seemed to struggle at first. Either way, she’s come pretty far in the past few months, and she’s thriving on her new routine, even if she seems to struggle some days.

He eats up everything he has to tell her, stories from when her sister was little, whatever weird thing Zoe’s done lately. Recently, she’s grown a habit of insisting on pouring her own cereal, and while Cordelia’s all for the independence, Zoe is not always the best with her aim, and it almost always ends up with one of them sweeping the spilled oats into the trash. Joseph seems to find this, and all the other stories, incredibly amusing, but Cordelia thinks that if she found out one day that she had a child she’d never heard of, she’d be more than willing to hear all the silly little details.

The prison visits run on a time limit, though, and it runs out before he’s fully satisfied. He clearly isn’t happy to leave, but she assures him that she’ll come back, and they can discuss the possibility of Zoe coming in the future, but Cordelia wants to wait on that. She isn’t really sure how she’s going to explain it to Zoe yet, that she does have a father out there that loves her, but he’s gone away for a really long time for doing something wrong. The entire situation is complicated, but when she tells him this, he seems to understand. 

They part on decent terms, and are even allows them to shake hands for a moment before Joseph is led away but one guard, while another shows Cordelia out through the same way she came in. 

The receptionist gives her a bit of and odd look as she leaves, but Cordelia only tosses the woman a polite smile over her shoulder as she heads into the parking lot and towards the car.

(Maybe, she thinks to herself as she slips the key into the ignition of her car, it’s weird to feel so positive about meeting her sister’s father for the first time in a prison, but sue her, she does.

Maybe her mother killed herself, and maybe that’s something she’s going to have to work through. But she thinks, as she pulls away from the prison and towards the highway, that not everything to come out of the security deposit box was bad.

Maybe things are fucked up. But she can give her sister a father, and that’s a start.)

-

She picks Zoe up from school herself that day, skipping the bus routine to grab her sister from class maybe an hour before school gets out. She isn’t actually sure why she does it, but she’s in a weird mood after her visit to the prison, and it leaves her wanting to see her sister.

Zoe has no issue for this, especially because it means she misses the end of her school day, and Cordelia drives them out to a bakery, like she’s grown a habit of doing with her sister.

“How was your day?”

“It was good, but Kyle got in trouble,” she replies. Cordelia’s brow furrows.

“What’d he do?”

“He pushed Madison over on the playground at recess today,” Zoe explains. “She scraped her arm and got really upset, and the teacher told Kyle he wasn’t allowed to put his hands on other people.”

“Well, she’s right, he shouldn’t push people over,” Cordelia points out. “Why’d he push her?”

Zoe frowns. “Madison said her mommy said our mommy was a bad person,” she answers. “She called her a witch, and something else that wasn’t nice, and Kyle told her to stop, but she didn’t, so he pushed her over.”

Cordelia pauses, considering her next words before she says them. While she doesn't exactly condone Kyle’s method of using violence to make a point, she can’t say she’s upset that he defended her sister. Considering how much trouble Zoe’s had standing up for herself, Cordelia’s almost glad about what happened. And even if she wouldn’t admit it aloud, there’s a part of her that thinks maybe Madison might have deserved it for spouting off about their mother like that. Fiona may not have been very well-liked in certain circles, but for God’s sake, she was still Zoe’s dead mother.

“Well, maybe pushing her over wasn’t the best way to go about it,” Cordelia starts. “Did you tell the teacher what Madison said?”

“Yeah, but she was still mad that Kyle pushed her over,” Zoe explains. “She got in trouble, but not as much as Kyle. He’s not allowed to go to recess tomorrow.”

“Well, actions do have consequences,” the blonde says. “What she said wasn’t nice, but he didn’t react very well, either.”

Zoe nods in understanding, but there’s still a slight pout to her lips, likely at the fact that Kyle isn’t going to be allowed at recess tomorrow. She turns her head to stare out the window when they pull up to a stoplight, and when Cordelia glances back at her in the rearview mirror, she can see it, the hints of her father in her, the curve of her lip and the shape of her jaw. Maybe they’re not twins, but when Cordelia looks at her sister, she can see the resemblance.

(And she can’t forget the way his face had changed when she slid him the photos of her sister, the way his eyes had widened, the reverence in them. There had just been something about the look on his face, and even if Cordelia doesn't think about her dad as much as she used to, it made her miss him in that moment. It was the same way he used to look at her when she was little.)

Zoe glances up, catching Cordelia staring at her, and it snaps the blonde out of her head just in time to watch their light turn green. She shifts the car back into drive, pulling through the intersection, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see Zoe still watching her for a few more seconds before she turns away, her gaze fixed back out of the window.

(She’ll go over the decision later in her head, think it over and over until she’s near the end of her rope, but in that moment, a piece of her knows she can’t keep Zoe away from her dad, not forever.

Especially not when he’s the only parent either of them have left.)


	13. the way i feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this one is ALSO a day late, sorry y'all, my work schedule has been changed around so i'm all thrown off lately

The Monday after Cordelia’s meeting with Joseph, Zoe has her first therapy appointment.

Finding a slot for an appointment at the place she wanted wasn’t as easy as she had hoped it would be, but she was able to get a spot on one of the two days she got off work early. It did mean, however, that she had to pick Zoe up from class an hour before it let out, but every arrangement has it trade-offs. Besides, Zoe didn’t seem very considered with the idea of missing the end of her school day, and considering the little bit of reluctance the girl seemed to have, Cordelia was alright with letting her have this one.

Cordelia’s actually met with the therapist beforehand, reluctant to put her sister in the care of a woman she’d never met, and she had to admit, she liked her. She was a little bit of an older woman by the name of Dr. Gardner, and not only was she kind, but also highly recommended, so Cordelia had decided to start with an appointment or two to see how Zoe felt about her before making a solid decision.

“Are you nervous?” Cordelia asks her sister, as they pull up in front of the practice.

Zoe shrugs. “Not really,” she replies, looking confused. “It’s just talking, right?”

“Yes, but you might talk about things that make you sad,” the blonde warns, but the other girl seems unphased by it, unbuckling her seatbelt and sliding out of the car without replying. It’s enough of an answer on her behalf that Cordelia climbs out of her own seat and leads her sister across the parking lot towards the family practice.

Checking Zoe in is a simple process, and Dr. Gardner must have been waiting, because within a minute or two, she’s appearing to take the girl back to her office. Zoe glances up at Cordelia once with wide eyes, seeking approval, and when she gets a nod, she heads off with Dr. Gardner. 

Cordelia stares at the door once it closes shut after her sister, almost unsure of herself. The appointments are only an hour, which seemed short when she was planning, but now that she’s sitting in the room with only her phone, a few magazines, and a handful or strangers, it feels like a lot longer.

She’s on edge for most of the time, too, as if she’s expecting Zoe to pop back out of the hallway any minute and announce that she hates therapy, that she wants to leave right now and never come back. It’d be out of character for her sister, sure, but Cordelia can’t help but wait for something about this to go wrong.

The other shoe never drops, though, because even though Cordelia spends the entire hour waiting for something to go wrong, nothing does. Instead,  at the end of the session, Zoe comes trotting back out of the door looking exactly as she had before. Her cheeks aren’t wet and red, her face isn’t scrunched up in anger, and she doesn’t look sad.

Dr. Gardner comes out a few steps behind the girl, beckoning Cordelia up to window. She goes through payment, insurance information, all of that on autopilot, handing over things when they request and answering when they ask. The therapist must be able to see the sort of daze Cordelia’s in, because she offers her a smile.

“It went very well,” she assures her. “Clearly, there’s been a lot of change and upheaval for your sister lately, which is to be expected considering the tragedy. And while she’s doing her best to cope, she’s only eight years old. While therapy might not need to be a long term thing for her, but I think she could do with a few more sessions. Right now, I think we should be looking at scheduling on a week by week basis for now.”

“But it- it went well?”

“I think so,” Dr. Gardner tells her. “Of course, you’ll want to talk to her yourself, but it seemed to go okay. I’d like to look into meeting again next week. There’s a couple of open spaces, but I do have the same slot open next week, if that would work for you again. If something comes up, or Zoe decides she doesn’t want to do this again, then you can always call and cancel.”

Cordelia blinks before her mind seems to clear. “Yeah, that works,” she confirms, and Dr. Gardner scribbles something down in her notebook before reaching her hand through the window to shake it. Cordelia takes it, bidding the woman goodbye before stepping away.

“You ready?” She asks, turning to Zoe, and the other girl smiles.

They talk about it in the car ride home, and while Zoe doesn’t seem to have too much to say, she seems to be in a pretty pleasant mood, which is something to be happy about either way.

“Did it go well?” The blonde asks, on the ride home.

“I think so,” Zoe shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Am I coming back again?”

“Mhmm,” Cordelia hums. “Next week.”

There’s a beat of silence, though, and she tilts her head back to glance at her sister in the backseat. “If you didn’t like it, thought, that’s okay,” she adds. “You don’t have to do it again.”

Zoe pauses before she speaks. “No, it was okay,” she replies, eventually. “It was nice to talk to her.”

“Are you sure?”

The younger girl looks up into the rearview mirror, and smiles.

“I’m sure.”

-

(She doesn’t cancel Zoe’s appointment for next week.

In fact, she does rather the opposite. Misty’s words come back to her on the drive home, so when Zoe’s distracted by doing her homework, Cordelia steps out onto the balcony and schedules a second appointment with another therapist at the practice for herself.)   
-

Misty and Kyle come over for dinner that night.

It’s becoming a regular thing, having each other over for dinner once a week or so. They switch between apartments, but it usually ends the same way, with Cordelia and Misty sat somewhere talking while the kids amuse themselves.

This week, Zoe and Kyle’s activity of choice is movies, and they curl up under blankets to watch something off Netflix while Cordelia and Misty are perched at the kitchen island, close enough to keep an eye on the kids while being able to talk in lower tones without being heard.

“Zoe’s therapy appointment was today, yeah?” Misty asks, leaning against the counter. “How was it?”

“She seemed to do okay,” Cordelia replies. “I think I might have been more nervous than she was.”

“Sometimes it’s easier for kids, I heard,” Misty points out. “They don’t have all those weird feelings adults do about bein’ honest and stuff.”

“That’s true,” Cordelia agrees. “Before she went in, I asked her if she was nervous, and she looked at me like it was weird to ask her that. She said it was just talking.”

“Maybe that’s what it is to them,” the taller woman says, pushing some of the curls out of her face. “I mean, she talks to you about that stuff already sometimes, right?”

“She does, but it’s… it’s weird sometimes,” the other blonde says. “Sometimes, I don’t know what to do, or what to tell her, I just feel so… thrown off, you know?”

“It’s like that with Kyle sometimes,” Misty hums. “‘Cept he don’t really like to talk about his mom an’ stuff. Even though he’s still so upset about it.”

Cordelia nods. Even though Misty’s said Kyle’s been getting better lately, it’s impossible not to notice the sadness that comes off the kid sometimes, like waves. Sure, he smiles, and he laughs, but he also goes quiet, a little like Zoe does, but it’s not the same. It’s hard to point out why, but there’s something markedly different about the ways Kyle and Zoe seem to drawn in on themselves.

“How’s therapy going with him on that front?”

Misty shrugs. “He had an appointment last week,” she replies. “He came out real quiet, but he said it wasn’t bad. He’s going back on Thursday, so I guess we’ll see if there’s any progress.”

They fall into a bit of a silence. Not an uncomfortable one, though, and a few minutes pass until Cordelia clears her throat. “I, um, I thought about what you said,” she starts. “And I scheduled myself an appointment at the place Zoe’s going.”

Misty’s eyebrow raises, and the corner of her lip curls up, just a bit. “Did ya?”

Cordelia nods, glancing over at the kids to find them still huddled under a blanket, staring at the screen with rapt attention. “Mhmm,” she hums. “I figured that it couldn’t hurt to try it at least once, right?”

“Might as well try,” Misty says, echoing what she’d said two weeks earlier. The conversation fades out for a moment, but when Cordelia’s mind strays back to her security deposit box, she clears her throat.

“I found something else in the box,” she starts.

“The security deposit box?”

“Mhmm.”

Misty knew about the letter and the bills, a result of having shown up on Cordelia’s doorstep to check on her after she’d opened the box, but the shorter blonde hadn’t told her about the contents of the last envelope, mostly due to the fact that she hadn’t remembered it’s existence until after Misty left. She hadn’t spoken a word to anyone about it besides Zoe’s father himself, a mix of being hesitant to reveal such sensitive information, but also due to the fact that most of her friends had grown up, moved away, and started their lives. They were all busy with something: Vivien with Violet, Alex with Holden, Shelby with her wedding, the list went on. And even though they were all reconnecting since her break-up with Hank, there was still an odd sort of distance between her and her friends. They’d be there for her if she asked, of course, but she would rather not dump the entirety of her problems on them. In the end, the only person she felt comfortable telling, the only person she wanted to tell, was Misty.

“There was a folder,” she says. “Full of information on Zoe’s father.”

Misty blinks. “Zoe’s father?”

“I never knew who he was, and neither did Zoe,” she tells her. “My mother refused to say anything. Well, at least when she was alive.”

“So… you found out who Zoe’s father was?”

Cordelia swallows. “Do you remember the Axeman?”

Misty pauses to think. “Ain’t that the guy that chopped up a married couple on Magnolia street?” She asks. Cordelia nods and, after a second, watches the recognition pass over the woman’s face. She glances over at Zoe.

_ “That’s  _ Zoe’s father?”

“Apparently so,” Cordelia replies. “I wasn’t really sure about it, but I went to see him-”

“You went to see him?”

Misty’s staring at her with a wide-eyed look. “I went last Friday,” she explains. “And I was skeptical, you know, because this man is a criminal and I didn’t even know he and my mother were seeing each other until I got the note. But he was… he was genuinely upset to hear my mother had died. He was bitter, too, because he didn’t hear from Fiona for eight years, but when he found out she was dead, I could see it in his face.”

“So you think Zoe’s his?”

“There’s nobody else,” Cordelia replies. “I don’t see anybody else lurking around, and besides, I don’t see any reason for my mother to lie about it. After all, she’s dead, what does she have to gain from it? And if she was going to lie, why would she choose a convicted felon, of all people? It just doesn’t make sense.”

Misty stops to consider that before she nods, conceding. “What do you think of him?” She asks. “I mean, I know he’s a killer an’ all, but you met him. Did you ask him why he did it?”

(The million-dollar question. Everyone knows of the ‘who’ of the Axeman, the ‘what’ and the ‘where’ and the ‘when’, but nobody knows the ‘why’. During his trial, all of New Orleans wanted to know the answer.)

Cordelia swallows. “I did,” she answers. “He, um, he wouldn’t really say. It definitely seemed like there was something else going on, but he told me he didn’t want to get me involved in something too dangerous. He said it wasn’t my place.”

“Did he seem, you know….?”

Misty trails off, but the end of her question is rather implied. After a moment, Cordelia shrugged.

“I mean, he’s in jail, and that’s it’s whole own thing, but besides that, I don’t really know,” she replies. “He seemed really… human. His emotions were definitely there, but it felt like he was trying to push them down, like he didn’t want me to see.”

“Did you talk to him about Zoe?”

“I did,” the shorter of the two confirms, glancing down at where her fingers are drumming a rhythm on the countertop. “He had no idea that she even existed. I did the math, and my mother was pregnant when he was arrested and convicted. It’s funny, because now I can remember her watching all the coverage on his trail with this… this  _ look  _ on her face, and at the time, it meant nothing to me! I thought it was just curiosity, like it was with everyone else who was just waiting for him to get sent to jail. But now…”

“It seems like more.”

“Exactly.”

“How did he take it?”

“He was skeptical at first, but he believed me,” she answers. “He wanted to know everything. Asked me anything he could think of, like her favorite colors and books and foods. He wanted to know how she did in school, what subjects she liked, what she didn’t. I showed him some pictures, and I let him keep them. He seemed really honest about it, like he wanted to know her.”

Misty pauses, and in that moment, Zoe chooses to make hers and Kyle’s presence known again, calling out for her sister.

“Cordelia?”

When the blonde turns, she notices the ending credits rolling on the screen, as well as Netflix's suggestion for what to watch next. Zoe is popped up from her seat, chin hooked over the edge of the couch.

“Can we watch another one?”

Cordelia glances first at the clock. While the time is verging on a little later, it isn’t that late in the day, and she’s willing to let it slide. When she turns to Misty, the other woman shrugs, and Cordelia turns back to her sister.

“Go ahead,” she says.

Zoe throws a thank you over her shoulder before grabbing the remote and sliding back into her seat, conferring with Kyle about their next movie choice. Once they appear to be distracted again, Misty speaks up.

“Are you gonna take her to see him?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” she admits. “But I don’t know. On one hand, he’s the only parent she has left. But he’s also been in jail her whole life, and I’m not so sure that bringing my eight year old sister to prison to meet a stranger is a great idea, even if he is her father. I mean, he did commit two murders, even if he won’t explain why. I’m not so sure if that’s good for her.”

“Do you think it could help her, though?” Misty asks. “Maybe seeing that she has another parent might make her feel less alone, maybe?”

“Maybe. I was kind of hoping that if her sessions went well, it was something I could talk to her therapist about, get a second opinion from somebody who might have a better idea.”

“Ain’t a bad idea.”

“I hope not,” Cordelia replies. “Either way, I’m going to see him again in a week or so by myself, so I can at least get a better idea of… everything, hopefully.”

“Just take your time with it,” Misty advises. “You go rushin’ in too fast, you can’t undo it.”

She leans forward, and Cordelia glances down to find Misty’s hand resting on her thigh, a few inches up from her knee. Even through her jeans, Cordelia can feel the warmth, the heat, of the touch crawling across her skin, and she swallows, her gaze flicking down to the other’s lips for a moment. In fact, it has her so distracted that it takes her a moment to realize that Misty’s still speaking to her.

“Cordelia?” She asks, snapping the woman from her thoughts.

“Hm?”

“I asked how you were?”

“You did?”

Misty nods, brow furrowing. “Yeah,” she replies. “Y’know, with everythin’ that’s been goin’ on?”

On instinct, Cordelia replies that she’s fine, but the minute she says it, she knows Misty won’t believe it. Maybe she knows Cordelia isn’t one hundred percent fine, or she’s banking on the fact that nobody in the woman’s situation would be, but every time that Cordelia’s tried to lie about how she was doing, Misty’s been able to see right through it. Whether it’s logic or her ability to read Cordelia, Misty likely knows it isn’t true.

Now is no exception, and Misty only looks back at her, waiting for an answer. It only takes a moment or two for Cordelia to give in with a sigh.

“I’m okay, just kind of tired,” she amends. “It’s just a lot going on right now, between Zoe’s father, and our mother, and my job, and…”

( _ The weird way you make me feel,  _ she thinks, but she doesn’t say it.)

She trails off, thought unfinished, and Misty offers her a small smile, squeezing her leg before dropping her hand back to her own lap. Part of Cordelia misses the contact already, but somehow, she finds it easier to breathe, easier to focus when she isn’t thinking about where Misty’s hand is resting against her thigh. If Misty notices anything about the way some of the tension falls from Cordelia’s shoulders, she says nothing about it.

“Well, I’m here for you,” she says. “And if you ever want to quit your job and come work at the flower shop, you’re always welcome. After all, you’re the one who’s been goin’ over our finances, and you’re clearly good with growin’ things.”

She gestures around the apartment, the plants dotted around, and Cordelia smiles.

“Well, at this rate, I may have to take you up on that,” she jokes. “After the last conversation I had with my boss, who knows how long I’ll last there.”

“What conversation?”

“The one I had after the talk we had about my feelings on my job?” Cordelia answers, but the confusion doesn’t leave Misty’s face. “Didn’t I tell you about that?”

“No,” the taller blonde replies. “But you ought to now.”

Cordelia launches into an entire explanation of what Myrtle said to her, and how she practically encouraged her to resign. Misty seems both amused and excited about it, insisting that what the redhead said was true, and that Cordelia could do a lot more for herself besides working a job she doesn’t even care for. In fact, she gets so excited about it that the other woman glances over to see if the kids have noticed, only to realize that the two of them have dozed off.

“Misty,” she murmurs, cutting the other woman off, and tilts her head towards the couch. “Look.”

The two children are still curled up under the blanket, slumped against each other. Zoe’s cheek is pressed against Kyle’s shoulder, and his head has rolled over on top of hers. Their eyes are closed, and despite the fact that the movie is still playing on the screen in front of them, they appear to be asleep.

“When’d that happen?” Misty asks, and Cordelia shrugs.

“During the movie, I guess,” she replies. “So much for watching another one.”

Misty watches them for a couple seconds. “I know I’ve gotta take him home, but I almost don’t want to,” she says. “He just looks so relaxed.”

Cordelia nods. When she’s sleeping, Zoe looks even younger than her age, and when she looks at the girl, she can sometimes still see the little baby whose diapers she used to change, the child who used to climb into her bed at night when she was home from college. She’s still a kid, but she’s not so blind to everything around her anymore, and opening herself up to the world has meant she’s opened herself up to being hurt. There are times Cordelia wishes she could wrap herself around her sister and shield her from the loss they bare, from the things kids say to her, to the world as it is today. When she glances over at Misty, the other woman is looking at Kyle like she wishes she could do the same.

(Maybe it’s justified. Both Kyle and Zoe have had more than their fair share of hurting, especially considering that they’re only second graders, one of which isn’t even quite eight yet. Between the two of them, they’ve got three dead parents, two therapists, and a handful of kids at school that make fun of them. The two of them are carrying heavier loads than Cordelia did at twice their age, more than she did even four months ago.

It isn’t fair, but like Fiona always said, life never is.)

They stare at the kids in silence for a while, before Misty sighs. “I ought to get him now, so he’ll fall right back asleep when we get back to our place,” she states, but she glances over at Cordelia like she’s asking for permission, or maybe to see if the shorter blonde will give her a reason not to. After a moment, though, she pushes herself up from her stool and pads over to the couch, bending down to rest her palm on Kyle’s head. When he doesn’t stir, she scratches a gentle hand through his hair, and it takes a second, but his eyes blink open, and a confused noise falls from his lips.

He mumbles something incoherent, still dazed from being woken, but Misty only nods at him like she understands. “We gotta go home so you can sleep in your own bed,” she explains, and after a little bit of plying, he begins to stand up and climb onto his feet. It wakes Zoe, but she seems mostly unphased, giving Kyle a hug goodbye before leaning over onto the arm of the couch and curling right back up with the blanket.

As Kyle goes to pick up his shoes where they’ve been abandoned, Misty makes her way back over to Cordelia. “See you soon, Delia,” she says, bending over just the slightest to press a kiss to the woman’s cheek. 

Her lips are soft, and warm, and even though she pulls away after a minute, it throws Cordelia off. Her mind blanks for a second before it catches up to the situation, and she offers Misty a smile. “Good night.”

“Night,” Misty replies, and after a moment, a sleepy Kyle echoes it, slinking out into the hallway with his aunt only a step behind, offering Cordelia one last wave before pulling the door shut behind her, wood sliding into place with a click.

(The feeling of Misty’s lips on her skin lingers even after she’s gone.)

(That night, after Zoe’s gone to bed, Cordelia pours a generous glass of wine and seats herself at the kitchen island, staring at the front door as if somebody’s going to knock on it.

She doesn’t know when it happened, her feelings for Misty are not platonic. Maybe they started out that way, maybe they didn’t, but either way, they’ve stretched out past friendly. Her skin buzzes where Misty touches her, and when the other woman leans too close, it’s like she sucks the air out from around Cordelia’s head, making it harder to breathe. There’s something distinctly  _ un _ -friendly about the way she feels when she glances at Misty’s lips, wonders what it’d be like to lean in and kiss her.

It is eleven on a Saturday, Cordelia’s finally been handed the secrets of her mother’s death, and she has feelings for Misty.

Great.)


	14. she's changing me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's technically still friday so this chapter isn't late, i did it y'all

Realizing she has feeling for Misty is a little shocking, yes, but it doesn’t really change her day to day life all that much. She still goes over for tea on Wednesdays, the other woman still watches Zoe after school, and they still have each other over for dinner once a week or so. The only difference is that now, Cordelia is hyper aware of Misty whenever they’re in the same space, is always watching her out of the corner of her eye, even when the kids are around. Considering how close the two of them have gotten, it’s nowhere near ideal, but there aren’t a lot of options on how to deal with it, so she settles on trying to push it away, trying to ignore it.

She’s not very good at it, but life goes on around it. The Earth doesn’t stop spinning on its axis because she has feelings for Misty.

Zoe’s eighth birthday starts to approach, although she opts to skip a big party, asking instead if the two of them can go out with Kyle and Misty, and maybe have a sleepover that night. She knows part of it is her sister’s more introverted nature, but it’s also likely due to the issues she and Kyle are still having with fitting in. It’s not that they’re each other’s only friends, but they probably have a solid eight or so between them, maybe even less, and having a big party is only a reminder of that, so Cordelia is more than happy to go along with what her sister wants, marking down a plan on the Saturday closest to her sister’s birthday for their plans.

(“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Wait, can we go bowling?)

The week before her Zoe’s birthday, however, brings something for Cordelia instead of her sister, because the Saturday before their celebration, Vivien comes back to New Orleans. Cordelia doesn’t actually find out until a few days before it happens, because even though she and Vivien were best friends through high school and college, even though they still talk, there’s been a weird gap in their friendship for a few years now, between Hank and Ben and everything else that’s been going on.

Cordelia thought her break-up with Hank was bad, but when Vivien explains what caused the collapse of her marriage, it puts all of that to shame. Like Hank, Ben had been cheating, but the difference was that Vivien had just lost their son, but was unable to have a late term abortion, and had to carry him the rest of the way to term. Ben had used this as an excuse to cheat, saying that he felt Vivien wasn’t caring enough about his emotional needs throughout this, and that he was forced to seek out intimacy from other woman to cope. It was bullshit, of course, so Vivien had started packing up her things to move back in with her parents, at least for a little while, taking Violet with her in the meantime.

All of that is insane, of course, but Vivien seemed to be carrying it with a lot of grace, if also with some sadness. Not only had she lost her baby, but she had lost her marriage, years of love and trust broken. However, despite how put together the woman acted, Cordelia had grown up with Vivien, and it only took one phone call for her to see just how much it was affecting Vivien. When she asked, though, the other woman insisted she had to keep it together, if not for her own sake, but for Violet’s, who was much too young to understand what was going on. 

There’s no real moving party or anything of the sort, not even something simple, like the way Matt and Shelby had helped Zoe and Cordelia move into their apartment. It’s mostly due to the fact that Vivien doesn’t plan on staying with her parents for a long time, not longer than she needs to, but also because she doesn’t want to make a big deal that she had to move back in with her family.

(“They always said they thought Ben and I were moving too fast,” she said, over the phone. “They told me it wouldn’t last, and they were right! Here I come slinking back home with my tail in between my legs, like I failed.”)

And so, Vivien moves back to New Orleans with her daughter in tow.

She comes back on a Thursday, but Cordelia doesn’t actually see her until she shows up at the apartment on Saturday. Cordelia knows she’s coming, of course, but when she glances through the peephole to the see Vivien on the other side, something in her chest thrills as she pushes it open.

“Hey stranger,” the other woman greets, and Cordelia’s lips curve up into a wide grin as she reaches out to pull the other woman into a tight hug. Vivien laughs in her ear, the sound light, and it warms something in the other woman’s chest. The last time they saw each other, Cordelia was climbing into her car to drive home because a police officer had just called to tell her that her mother was dead. This is certainly an improvement.

When she pulls back, her gaze catch on the figure that hesitates near Vivien’s legs, one arm wrapped around the woman’s knee. Violet stands beside her mother, staring back up at Cordelia with wide brown eyes.

“Can you say hi?” Vivien prompts, and Violet glances back and forth between them for a moment. After a moment, she straightens, tilting her chin up.

“Hi,” she greets. “I’m Violet.”

Cordelia laughs as she returns the introduction before she opens her front door wider, giving them space to come inside. Violet hesitates, but Vivien nudges her forward until she steps through the threshold, her mother less than half a step behind her. 

When they come in, Zoe’s head pops up from where she’s sitting on the couch. Vivien smiles when she notices her.

“Hey Zoe,” she greets. “You may not remember me-”

Zoe’s lips curl. “Vivien!”

Vivien seems taken aback for a second before she nods. “You still remember me after two years?”

Zoe lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “You were always nice,” she says. “Nicer than Hank.”

Vivien snorts. “She’s still on top of it, I see,” she jokes, and Cordelia laughs.

“She’s certainly smart, at least.”

Zoe climbs off her seat from the couch and makes her way over to Cordelia, but she pauses when she takes notice of Violet. The two of them regard each other for a few moments before Zoe offers the younger girl a smile. “I’m Zoe,” she greets. “I’m almost eight.”

“I’m four,” the younger girl replies. “My name’s Violet.”

Zoe looks up at Cordelia as if seeking permission, and even though the blonde has no idea what she’s asking that permission for, she nods anyway. Satisfied, Zoe turns back to Violet.

“Do you want to play?”

Apparently, it’s not what anyone was expecting, and Vivien gives Cordelia a surprised look that she returns. Violet seems a little bit stunned, as well, but after a moment, she nods.

“Okay.”

Zoe, once again, looks up at her sister. “Can we play in my room?” She asks.

Cordelia glances over at Vivien, and when the other woman shrugs, she does, too. “Go ahead.”

Violet in tow, Zoe heads down the hallway, already trying to engage the younger girl in conversation, and the two women watch them go

“That was… incredibly easy,” Vivien remarks, as the girls disappear into Zoe’s room. “I’m impressed.”

“Me too,” Cordelia agrees, before turning to her friend. “But is it just me, or-”

“Does Violet look exactly like Zoe did at that age?” Vivien finishes. “No, it’s impossible for me not to notice. Ever since she was eighteen months old or so, she’s looked just like Zoe.”

Cordelia hums. “That’s… bizarre.”

“It has been,” Vivien agrees. “It’s like watching Zoe grow up all over again. That kid is big now.”

“Hey, she isn’t grown yet,” Cordelia points out. “She hasn’t even quite reached eight yet, she’s still little.”

“She is a squirt,” Vivien agrees. “But she’ll grow. How has she been doing?”

“She’s been doing alright. She’s been coming back out of her shell a lot more lately, and she started therapy last week. Things are looking up lately.”

“And you?”

Cordelia hasn’t told Vivien about any of it, not the suicide or the cancer or Zoe’s father, and as far as the woman knows, the fire was an accident, an unplanned tragedy. Save for a few people, the number of which Cordelia could count on her hands, that’s all anyone knows. Vivien has no idea.

Instead of telling her any of that, though, Cordelia smiles. “It was hard for a while, but I’m alright,” she answers. “How are you?”

Vivien sighs. “Well, packing up my whole life and moving back home hasn’t been the best of times, but I’m making it work.”

“And Ben?”

“Ugh, I do not want to talk about Ben and his little collegiate girlfriend,” Vivien says. “It’s all my mother wants to talk about, how she knew he was no good, how I never should have gotten married right out of college.”

“How’s your dad?”

“As relaxed as always,” Vivien replies. “My mom was ready to launch into a whole rant from the moment I finished bringing my stuff inside, but my dad only called me kiddo and offered me a beer. So, same as usual for both of them. At least they’re both happy to see Violet.”

“Grandkids have historically been a get out of jail free card, or so I’ve heard,” Cordelia remarks. Vivien laughs.

“Amen.”

They spend the next hour or so, maybe more, catching up. They talk less about the things like Ben and Fiona, and more about the silly stuff, the weird things that have happened and the funny stories they’ve been collecting since they’d started to grow a little distant. Even though it’s been a while, it feels like no time has passed within the first fifteen minutes or so, almost like they’re still teenagers at high school giggling at the lunch table.

They’re interrupted only by a knocking at the door, and Cordelia’s brow furrows. She stands up and makes her way over to get it, and when she opens the door, she finds Misty on the other side.

“Misty,” Cordelia greets, a confused smile slipping onto her face. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

At the sound of her voice, Misty startles, almost as if she were surprised to see Cordelia, despite the fact that she was standing on the doorstep of her apartment.

“Oh, I just came to drop off Zoe’s jacket,” she explains, passing over the coat in her hands. “She left it yesterday.”

Cordelia takes it, a small laugh bubbling up from her chest. “I was wondering where she put that,” she replies. “She thought she left it at school.”

“Nah, found it on the floor by the couch,” Misty tells her. “Probably got thrown back there when the kids were dancing.”

There’s a pause, and Misty glances over Cordelia’s shoulder to where Vivien is sitting, before turning back to the woman in front of her. “I ought to go and let you get back to what you’re doing,” she says. Cordelia almost expects Misty to reach out and hug her, or something of the sort, but she only flashes her an odd sort of smile before walking away, back to her own apartment, and the shorter blonde watches her go for a second before closing the door.

“Is that the neighbor?”

When she turns around, Vivien is still sitting at the kitchen island, one eyebrow raised. There’s something expectant and amused in the expression on her face, and Cordelia can already tell just by looking at her that she’s up to something.

“Yes, that’s Misty,” she replies. “The one who watches Zoe.”

“Right,” Vivien says. “The one you have tea with every week, yeah? She’s also the one who runs the flower shop and listens to Stevie Nicks?”

Cordelia’s brows furrow. “Yes?”

“You talk about her more than you realize,” Vivien explains, leaning forward and resting her elbow on the table as her lips curl up. “A lot, actually. A rather interesting amount-”

“Are you implying-”

“That you have a crush on her? Oh, absolutely.”

She sputters for a moment, caught, before she regains her composure. “I do not,” she insists, but Vivien only gives her a look, the kind that says she is not at all buying what Cordelia’s trying to sell her. No matter what she’s trying to pretend, it’s obvious that Vivien has seen right through it in a matter of seconds, a result of all the time they spent growing up together. She can read Cordelia like a book, and she has, because she’s managed to pinpoint the other blonde’s feelings for her neighbor after watching them interact for all of a minute or so.

When it’s clear that Vivien isn’t going to believe her no matter what she says, she sighs, giving in. “Is it that obvious?”

“If I’m the only one who’s noticed, then probably not,” Vivien assures her. “After all, I’ve always been really good at reading you. You remember your crush on that theatre girl in high school, Natacha?”

“Oh god, don’t remind me,” Cordelia replies, shaking her head, and Vivien tips her head back in a laugh.

“If I remember correctly, you insisted that you were just admiring her talent, and wished you could be as good at acting,” she recalls.

“She was very talented-”

“You didn’t do theatre!”

“Okay, so maybe I had a crush on her,” Cordelia admits, and Vivien only gives her a knowing smile.

“I know,” Vivien assures her. “We all knew.”

“Anyways, moving on from my high school crushes,” Cordelia declares, earning herself a laugh. “Have you started looking for a job yet in New Orleans?”

“Well, I was actually thinking of going back to working with the cello,” Vivien says. “I always said I was going to pick it back up once Violet was older, but then Ben was on his whole thing about stay-at-home parenting, but decided he couldn’t do it. But I’ve missed it a lot.”

“If you’ve missed it, do it,” Cordelia tells her. “Besides, you were fantastic at it.”

“I wasn’t half bad,” Vivien agrees, but her lips quirk up in the corners. “But what about you? Are you still working at that same firm?”

Cordelia shrugs. “Well, yeah,” she replies. “I mean, my boss is pretty great, and after everything that’s happened with my mother and Zoe, they’ve been really lenient with giving me time off and letting me go home early. It’s not a bad place to work, all things considered.”

Vivien pauses. “Wait, don’t you hate your job?”

“I- I don’t hate my job!”

“Cordelia, no offense, because I love you very much, but aren’t you always talking about how much you don’t like your job?”

“I am not always talking about how much I hate my job!” Cordelia protests.

“Okay, maybe not all the time, but you also aren’t a complainer by nature. Just the fact that you’ve brought it up to me more than once is enough for me to know you really don’t like it.”

“Okay, I kind of hate my job,” she admits. “But I don’t know if I’m going to be there for too much longer.”

“Why not?”   
“Well, I’m actually hoping to go back to school soon and start taking education courses so I can be a teacher,” Cordelia explains.

Vivien freezes. “You’re what?”

“... I’m going back to school?”

“Cordelia, that’s fantastic,” Vivien says. “When? Where?”

“I’m actually not sure about that yet,” Cordelia replies. “I mean, I’ve still got to take care of Zoe, and even though I’ve got the money, you know how important to me keeping a job is, I don’t want to just live off my mother’s money.”

“You’re not going to work your current job while going back to school, though, right?”

“No,” Cordelia answers. “I might try going to school full-time and working part time, or trying to do both full-time, but I have no idea where I’d work. Misty offered me a job, but I’m not so sure about that. I could always-”

“Wait, go back,” Vivien says, cutting her off. “She offered you a job?”

“Yes, but-”

“No, no buts yet. What’s the job?”

“Well, I’ve been helping her with some of the financials for her flower shop,” Cordelia explains. “But she’s offered to have me come help her run the store and work some shifts.”

“She’s offering you a position helping her run a small business?”

“Yes?”

“Isn’t that kind of, like, a big deal?”

Cordelia shrugs, feigning for nonchalance, but her face betrays her. “If you want to look at it that way, I guess. But I can’t just take it.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I mean- I have a job now, and I don’t need a new one right this moment. It’s not like I’m desperate!”

“So?” Vivien retorts. “You hate your job, and your very cute neighbor is offering you a new one. And not only are you not taking it, but you’re just also not going to do anything about the fact that you have a crush on your neighbor?”

“Misty is- it’s more complicated than that,” Cordelia insists. “I mean, she’s my friend, and she watches Zoe three days a week. She isn’t just some neighbor, I don’t want to throw away what we have because I think she’s cute. And I certainly can’t just take a job because the woman who offered it to me is attractive!”

“I think there are several other valid reasons,” Vivien points out. “For one, you already get along, so working together shouldn’t be a problem, and you won’t hate your coworkers. Not only that, though, but she’s offering you a job working with plants, something you love, but also something that you’re good at.”

“There’s more to it than that-” 

“Cordelia, you’re making excuses,” Vivien interrupts. “You’re coming up with reasons not do this even though it would be a good thing for you.”

“I’m not making excuses!”

“You are,” she insists. “Cordelia, I’ve known you for years, over a decade at this point, and there are many reasons that I love you because there are many things that make you wonderful.”

“Where is this going?”

Vivien smiles, a little bittersweet. “You’ve always been very stable,” she explains. “And that’s not a bad thing, because it makes you a good friend to go to for advice, and a good shoulder to cry on. But it also means that once you get comfortable somewhere, you settle down and stay there, even if you aren’t completely satisfied. I watched you do it in college with your majors, and I watched you do it with Hank, and I’m watching you do it again now. You’ve gotten comfortable at your job, and now that you’ve settled in, you don’t want to leave, even if you aren’t happy, because it’s still survivable. You need a push to move forward.”

When her friend finishes, Cordelia stares at her in silence for a long moment. Vivien only meets her gaze, face unchanging. Finally, Cordelia speaks.

“What’s the push?” She asks.

“This is,” Vivien says. “This is that push, okay? This is me pushing you."

She reaches out to place her hands on the other woman’s shoulders, meeting her eye-to-eye. “Are you ready to move on?”

Cordelia pauses. She can think of several more protests to make, bushes to beat around, pleas to make. But Vivien’s right; all her ‘reasons’ are excuses, things she’s used to keep herself rooted to the spot because she’s too afraid of making changes, too afraid of throwing things of, the instability that might come with it. Her job is familiar, and comfortable, and she isn’t staying because she likes it, she’s staying because she’s afraid to leave, afraid of what else is or isn’t out there for.

She swallows, and nods. “I’m ready.”

Vivien smiles.

“Then quit your job.”

-

Cordelia goes to work on Monday with the intent of quitting her job at the end of her day.

Before she can even ask to see Myrtle that afternoon, though, the older woman is calling her into her office. At this point, Cordelia isn’t even surprised anymore, and she only takes the seat across from the redhead in silence, waiting for the woman to explain exactly why she wanted to see Cordelia in the first place.

“You have to leave this firm,” Myrtle says.

Cordelia blinks, shocked. “I’m sorry?”

“By the end of next month, I will no longer be here,” Myrtle explains. “My departure has been coming for some time, I’ll admit, but for a myriad of reasons, I will be out of here in two months or less. And from our earlier conversations, I know you have little interest in staying here as it is, and I can’t imagine that will get any better once Cecily and Quentin have taken over.”

“I- are you firing me?”

“Well, I’m rather hoping you’ll quit,” she corrects.

It’s funny, because Cordelia was coming here to do exactly that, but now that Myrtle’s laying it all out on the table in front of her, she feels oddly blindsided.

“I-”

“Cordelia,” the redhead drawls. “Can you honestly say that you want to work here anymore?”

“No.”

“Good,” she says. “Because you deserve to get out of her and do something better with your life.”

“So you’re asking me to quit?”

“I’m telling you,” Myrtle explains. “To give me your two weeks notice. Or I will have to find some reason to fire you, and then we’ll have to explain that.”

“I-”

“Well?”

“You have my two weeks notice,” she blurts. In response, the corner of Myrtle’s lips twitch up, like somebody who’s just been told of good news they already knew was coming. Maybe that’s exactly what she is, because the redhead reaches into one of her drawers and pulls out a stack of papers, handing them to the younger woman across the table and explaining where exactly to sign. Cordelia does as instructed, and when she slides them back over, Myrtle shuffles them into a straight pile before placing them back into her desk.

“I’m glad that we’ve been able to see eye-to-eye on this,” she says, and her lips curve up into a smile. “Now please, get to work on helping finish whatever you’ve been involved in, so you can get out of here easy and regret-free.”

Having been dismissed, she climbs to her feet and moves to leave the office. Before she crosses the doorway, though, she stops, glancing over her shoulder.

“Myrtle?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

The redhead’s grin softens, turning from knowing to heartfelt. “Any time, dear.”

(Cordelia leaves the office beaming.)

-

Cordelia doesn’t actually plan on rushing right over to Misty’s apartment, it just happens.

It is Monday, after all, and tea usually happens on Wednesday. Cordelia’s plans for the rest of her day is to wash Zoe’s latest round of clothes and maybe watch some television to treat herself, considering it’s too early in the day to be considering a glass of wine. 

Her plans change, however, when she hears the music. Her hand is halfway to the doorknob when she catches the hint of Fleetwood Mac coming out from under Misty’s door, Stevie Nicks’ vocals floating towards her ears. She had planned on talking to Misty later, maybe broaching the subject of her working at the flower shop, but in the moment, she’s overcome with the need to tell Misty now, about how she quit her job and she’s going to start taking college courses and do everything she can to get a job that’ll make her happy.

She can tell, of course, that Misty’s home, so she knocks on the door and waits, bouncing once on the balls of her feet before she settles. After a few moments, the door swings open to reveal the other blonde. She must be used to the spontaneous visits, or at least used to seeing Cordelia show up on her doorstep, because she doesn’t even look surprised.

“You look amped up,” she comments. “Something happen?”

_ I quit my job. I’m going to go back to school. I’m going to be a teacher, and it’s going to make me happy. _

She thinks all those things, but she doesn’t say them. Instead:

“Still got that job?” She asks.

(Misty only grins.)


	15. come a little closer.

Misty, of course, still has that job.

The other woman is ecstatic to hear that Cordelia’s finally leaving her job, more than happy to take her on at the flower shop. She beams the entire time she ushers Cordelia inside and starts a kettle of water, and the sight of it has warmth flipping through Cordelia’s chest and cartwheeling down into her stomach.

(A reminder of something she’s trying to forget, but when Misty smiles, she smiles back.)

She has her explain everything, from the conversation she had with Vivien over the weekend to what her boss said to her. Misty wants to know everything, and by the end of the story, she looks about ready to burst into laughter, even if she’s doing a fairly good job of keeping it in.

“Wait, so you walked in there to quit, and instead, you got fired?” She recaps. Cordelia blinks, sputtering for half a second before managing to regain her grip.

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” she protests. “She didn’t actually fire me, she just pushed me very hard into resigning.”

“And threatened to fire you if you didn’t agree,” Misty pointed out. “Delia, I think you got fired.”

“I did not!” Cordelia laughs, and Misty grins as she pours water into their mugs, sliding the other blonde’s back over to her.

“Maybe not technically, but I think it still counts.”

“Not if I was already going in there to quit!”

“If you were already quitting, why were you so miffed about her insisting you do it?”

Cordelia opens her mouth to respond, but after a moment, she shuts it again to consider her words. Misty waits with one eyebrow arched, a teasing smile on her face, and if she’s honest, that isn’t really helping Cordelia keep her train of thought on track either.

“I’m still waiting.”

“Well, it’s one thing to tell someone you don’t want them,” Cordelia explains. “It’s another thing to be told you aren’t wanted.”

Misty nods, a serious expression on her face, but it quickly grows back into a grin, as if she can’t help it. “Are you saying that you’re mad your job broke up with you first?”

Cordelia’s jaw drops open, and Misty snorts a little, as if she can’t help it. Granted, it is kind of funny, but she can’t help but feel almost embarrassed, cheeks turning the slightest shade of pink.

“Your job said ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ and broke up with you,” Misty jokes, and Cordelia drops her face forward into her hands.

“My job broke up with me,” she mutters.

“Your job broke up with you,” Misty repeats.

Cordelia groans, and at the sound of it, Misty laughs again. “Hey, it ain’t so bad,” she says, nudging the other woman with her elbow. “At least now you get to come work for me.”

“I guess that’s a plus.”

“You guess?”

When Cordelia peeks up through her fingers, Misty is looking at her with an indignant expression, although there’s a hint of mirth that tugs at the edge of her lips, telling the other woman she isn’t upset. With a snort, Cordelia lifts her head.

“Well, it isn’t a _bad_ deal…”

(Misty grins.)

-

The Saturday after Cordelia quits her job, she throws Zoe’s birthday party.

Well, it’s not really a party, but it is a celebration. As was requested, Cordelia invites Kyle and Misty to come bowling with them, and the two of them are more than happy to come, despite Misty telling Cordelia a few days earlier that she’s only gone a handful of times, and she isn’t sure if Kyle ever has at all. Still, it’s Zoe’s birthday, so they’re all for doing whatever she decides to do, including a sleepover that night.

Considering that they’re all going to the same place, they all ride together, packing into Cordelia’s XXXX and setting off for the bowling alley. Misty rides shotgun and, feeling generous, Cordelia allows her control of the bluetooth connection in her car that plays the music. Of course, this means that they end up listening to Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac the whole way there, but it’s not bad. It’s actually rather nice, because not only does Misty know all the words, but so do the kids, having heard all of the songs several times before, and the sound of all their voices filling the empty space in her car makes Cordelia’s chest feel warm.

(Maybe part of that also has something to do with the way she feels when she looks over and sees Misty singing along, her window rolled down and the wind ruffling her hair, but she isn’t exactly keen on admitting that.)

The bowling alley is already expecting them when they get there, due to the fact that Cordelia’s already made a reservation, and it’s a simple process of walking up to the front desk and being given a lane. Misty tries to help pay, more than once, but Cordelia brushes her off each time, insisting that she’s covering Misty and Kyle to thank them for coming.

“You don’t have to thank us for coming, though, you know,” Misty points out, as they’ve gotten their shoes and are following Kyle and Zoe over to their lane. “Kyle loves spending time with Zoe, and you ain’t half bad company yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not half bad, am I?” She repeats, but the smile that curls her lips seeps into her voice, and Misty grins, bumping their shoulders together.

“Well, I sure hope I like you at least a little,” Misty teases. “After all, I see you several times a week at this point, be pretty awkward if we didn’t get along.”

“Maybe you’re just using me for my ‘fancy tea collection’, as you’ve called it.”

As they approach their lanes, where Zoe and Kyle are already peeling off their sneakers, Misty laughs. “Your teas are nice, Delia,” she concedes. “But I like you on your own plenty.”

Butterflies swell in her stomach, but Cordelia pushes them back down. As they approach the kids, Kyle swings his head up, and opens his mouth, saving Cordelia from having to stammer for a response.

“I’ve never bowled before,” he says, glancing back and forth between Zoe, Cordelia, and Misty, looking almost nervous.

“Never?” Zoe repeats, and he shakes his head as he finishes fastening the velcro of the bowling shoes on his feet.

“I did it once when I was really little, but I don’t remember how anymore,” he explains.

“It’s not hard,” she assures him. “You have to get a ball first.”

He eyes the nearest group of bowling balls, an assortment of different colors and weights. “How do I know which one I need?”

“You have to figure it out,” Zoe says, and she stands, offering Kyle her hand. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He blinks before taking her hand, and she leads him off to help him figure out which one to use. Misty watches them go, and when Cordelia turns to look at her, the other woman is smiling. Noticing Cordelia’s stare, however, a slight flush of pink covers her cheeks.

“It’s just… he looks so happy when he’s with Zoe,” she explains. “He was such a happy kid, I just missed it. It’s nice to see him again.”

“He’s been getting better, hasn’t he?”

Misty nods. “Seems so,” she says. “He’s been a lot more… upbeat lately, you know? I meant it, when I said Zoe’s good for Kyle. I mean, I know Kyle loves me, and we’re close, but havin’ someone his own age around, someone who understands him, at least a little… he’s doing better.”

Cordelia grins. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” Misty agrees. “It’s like he’s a normal kid his age now.”

“Zoe, too,” the other blonde seconds, and the kids chose that moment to reappear, both carrying matching green balls with the number six printed on the side. It puts an end to that conversation, considering it’s kind of rude to talk about them when they’re right there.

“You guys got everything?” Misty asks, and Kyle nods. Zoe props the ball she’s carrying up onto her hip with one hand so she can use the other one to offer them a thumbs up, and Misty returns the gesture.

The two of them break to go get their own balls, and when they meet back at the lane, Zoe and Kyle are staring at the screen in front of the ball return and trying to figure out how to get their names in there. Just before Cordelia can step in, however, Zoe seems to get a handle on it, and when she types her name in, a _Z_ appears on the monitor over the alley lanes.

“Got it?” Cordelia checks in anyway, and Zoe nods with a smile.

“Got it,” she repeats, going on to add Kyle’s name to the roster, followed by Cordelia and Misty.

Once Misty gets back with her own ball, Cordelia gives her sister the go ahead to start the game and take her turn. As the kids begin to get into it, Zoe taking her go and then helping coach Kyle through his, Misty and Cordelia quickly end up falling into conversation in between their own turns.

Halfway through the second game, Cordelia gives the kids a ten dollar bill, and they run off to order fries with the money, leaving the two women to fall deeper into their own discussion. It starts with them discussing some of the girls that work at the flower shop, but they quickly get off topic talking about Misty’s younger sister, which somehow gets them all the way back to a discussion about how they spent their own years in high school.

“I wasn’t exactly the most popular back in high school,” Misty explains. “You know, dressed different than everyone else, acted different than everyone else, listened to different music. Most of ‘em thought I was real weird.”

Cordelia hums, but before she can say anything, Misty continues. “They’re the weird ones, though,” she adds. “Can you imagine not liking Stevie Nicks?”

Her lips curl up at the corners, and Cordelia lets out a surprised laugh. At the sound, Misty’s smile seems to stretch even wider, and she reaches out to bump the tip of her foot into Cordelia’s ankle.

“What about you?” Misty asks. “Didn’t you go to that school with the fancy art program and all?”

Cordelia nods. “It didn’t, but I wasn’t in any of the classes,” she tells her.. Remembering her conversation with Vivien, however, she laughs a little. “Although for a while, I did pretend to be interested in the theatre program.”

“You _pretended_ to be?”

“Mhmm,” Cordelia replies. “My best friend, Vivien, used to tease me about how I dragged her to every school play in junior year. I think I made her see, like, three or four shows? I told her I was interested in theatre, but eventually she found out it was only because I had a crush on someone in the program.”

Misty laughs. “Was he cute, at least?”

“Um, she was,” Cordelia replies, coughing to dislodge to lump in her throat. Still grinning, Misty nods, almost distracted, but the smile slips a little when she seems to process what was said.

“Oh.”

Silence falls between them, and Cordelia feels something like anxiety, self-consciousness tugging at her chest. Misty seems to grow quiet, glancing off into the distance before looking over at the other blonde, but when her eyes meet Cordelia’s, there’s something almost loaded in her gaze.

“You, uh- never said you liked girls,” Misty says, but her voice is quiet, a few flickers above whisper. There’s a sudden tension starting to form between them, a lump forming in Cordelia’s throat that she can’t swallow.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” she returns, and her heart thumps. _Why does it matter, why does it matter, whydoesitmatter?_

“It doesn't,” Misty is quick to reply. “Not- not like that, it’s just…”

She trails off, and Cordelia can’t help but think back to maybe two months ago or so, Misty leaning against her kitchen counter after scaring Hank off, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips.

_(“Men ain’t really my thing.”)_

There’s just- _something_ about the way Misty is looking at her right now; it resonates in Cordelia’s chest, and not for the first time, she considers leaning across the space between them and pressing her mouth against Misty’s, even if she might regret it after.

The sound of bowling pins crashing behind her catches her attention, and she snaps out of whatever sort of trance she’s started to fall into, cheeks flushing when she realizes she’s been staring at Misty’s lips. The other blonde’s eyes catch hers, wide and blue, and Cordelia feels her heart pick up in her chest, thumping against her ribcage like a jackhammer.

Apparently, the kids have decided that, upon coming back with their fries, they were ready to start playing again, Kyle taking his turn before either woman had even noticed he and Zoe returned. When Cordelia ;ooks over her shoulder, trying to ignore the way she can still feel Misty’s stare against the back of her neck, Zoe is clapping for the spare Kyle’s gotten. There’s a sheepish look on his face, but he’s smiling wide enough that she can see his teeth peek through, dimples wrinkling his cheeks. Until now, Cordelia hadn’t even realized he _had_ dimples.

Behind her, Misty clears her throat, and Cordelia can almost feel the sound of it against her skin. “Nice job, Kyle,” Misty praises, but it sounds just a little preoccupied.

(God, is Misty as affected as she is?

What does _that_ mean?)

Kyle doesn't seem to notice anything amiss with Misty, instead making his way back to the chairs that surround the bowling console. “It’s your turn, Cordelia,” he points out, glancing up at monitor above it that displays their scores, a flashing arrow pointing to the C initialing her name.

She blinks once, before climbing to her feet. “Thanks, Kyle,” she replies, and for good measure, tacks on a _‘good job’_ for the spare he got. His smile reappears, but she barely even registers it, her brain still all but fogged over from the moment she just shared with Misty.

She’s so off her game still that the first ball she completely gutters the first ball she throws on her turn, and with the second, she manages to knock down a whopping three pins. When she turns back around, Misty is talking to Kyle, but when she glances up and they make eye contact, there’s still something there.

Cordelia spends the entire rest of the game distracted, to the point that she ends up getting beaten by both Zoe and Misty, despite starting out with the strongest lead.

They all laugh at her for the rest of the night, Kyle included, although his teasing is more sparse than the other’s. Misty takes particular delight in it, but Cordelia can’t even try to be petulant when the other woman is giggling and leaning into her side.

(They all make jokes about it the entire drive home, voices carrying over the sound of Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie singing in the background, and even if it’s at her own expense, Cordelia grins the whole way home.)

-

(“Good birthday?” Cordelia asks her sister, later that night when she’s tucking her into bed.

There’s a lot that could have been wrong with today, a part of the blonde can’t help but think. Zoe could say, _it’s my first birthday without Mommy._ Zoe could say, _I wish I had more friends to come._ Zoe could say, _I wish it was more._

Instead, the girl smiles. “Great birthday,” she whispers, sliding down beneath the covers. “Best birthday.”)

-

She doesn't expect to see Misty again so soon, but when somebody knocks on her door that night only minutes after Zoe’s gone to bed, she finds Misty standing on the other side. The blonde fidgets with her hands, ringed fingers pulling at each other, and she almost seems to startle when she looks up and sees Cordelia.

The shorter of the two blinks, brows furrowing together at the sight of the nerves that are splashed out across Misty’s face.

“Misty?” Cordelia asks. “Is something wrong?”

Something in her body surges forward, insisting that she has to be touching Misty, has to be offering comfort right _now,_ so she reaches out and places a hand on Misty’s forearm. The other woman glances down at the contact, stiffening under the touch for a second before relaxing.

Misty shakes her head, “Nothing’s wrong, it’s just- it’s not just me, right?”

“Huh?”

“Today, at the bowling alley,” she continues. “There’s something here, I- you feel it, too- right?”

It almost sucks the air out of the space between them, because for a moment, Cordelia can’t think. Her brain skips and stutters and restarts itself with the realization that Misty is standing on her doorstep and confessing to having feelings for her, at least to some extent. Part of her expects to pinch herself and snap back to reality, but when she curls her free hand into a fist and lets her fingernails dig into her palm, she doesn't wake up, doesn't snap out of the moment.

She doesn't even realize she’s gone silent for a moment, but Misty is still looking at her with those big, blue eyes, as if she’s pleading with her to say something.

“Are you… are you saying that you feel something for me?” Cordelia asks, because the idea of admitting she has feelings for Misty only to be turned away in this moment makes her stomach churn.

Instead of denying it, though, Misty nods, small and fast, her blonde curls bouncing, and it hits Cordelia right in the chest. “Do you?”

Cordelia almost forgets how to speak for a second, but then she’s nodding. “Yes,” she answers, and it comes out breathless.

At some point, Misty has shifted, and the hand that was laying on the woman’s arm is now resting in her palm. At Cordelia’s admission, she squeezes it.

“You’re… you’re not playin’ with me, right?” Misty asks. “This ain’t some joke to you, this is real?”

“It’s real,” Cordelia assures, and because she can’t help it, she adds: “ _God,_ it’s real.”

Misty seems to fumble for an answer for a second, before her lips pull up into a grin. “Good,” she says, voice only a few notes louder than a whisper. The tension from the bowling alley has returned full force, and Cordelia is more than aware of the way that Misty’s hand has slid up towards her elbow, long fingers wrapped around her forearm. The space between them has started to shrink, and they’re close enough they could be kissing in less than a second if they wanted, and with the way Misty’s looking at her, Cordelia thinks the other woman might try it.

( _God,_ she wants her to.)

Misty doesn’t, instead taking a step back and putting space between them, hand falling back to her side. Her smile doesn’t falter, however, and if anything, it just grows.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Delia,” she says, still grinning, and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek. Before Cordelia can react, however, Misty pulls away and starts up the hallway to her own apartment, looking back at Cordelia as she goes.

They don’t break eye contact until Misty is stepping through her door, still beaming, and Cordelia feels it painted across her own face even after she’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @cam_stans  
> updates come mondays and fridays!


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